


Ouroboros

by smug_albatross



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: F/M, Firestar becomes ThunderClan's resident cryptid, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, also firestar definitely has ptsd from all of the, but not really, everything, just change it, no betas we die like men, now with fanart, probably a lower body count than the series tbh, that he's been through
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 104,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smug_albatross/pseuds/smug_albatross
Summary: When a clan cat dies, they go to StarClan. That is the way it has always been.When a monster dies, they go to the Dark Forest. That is the way it has always been.When Firestar dies, he wakes up in a Twoleg nest with a collar around his throat with kitten fluff for fur and a strange voice in his ears. That is not the way it was supposed to be.Firestar has lived and lost nine lives in service of StarClan - but now one among their number laments the way his story ended and makes him an offer. Another life, in exchange for a second chance at a happy ending.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  ["Ouroboros" by altiasdog](https://www.deviantart.com/altiasdog)
> 
>  
> 
> Look!! Look at the REALLY COOL BANNER that altiasdog made!! I love it so much!

Thunder split the sky and the world went white as lightning struck the fallen tree next to him. Flames washed over him, suffocating his howl of pain – he heard Sandstorm scream, and then –  
  
It was over.

* * *

Firestar wheezed and coughed as he opened his eyes. The air was hot, suffocating – he gagged on the stuffy air, clawing at whatever was constricted around his throat – it was thick, heavy, and –  
  
– a collar?  
  
Firestar stared blankly down at his chest where a golden bell dangled from his throat. There was a dish next to his nest – _nest? Bed? Nest_ – filled with dry, bland-smelling pellets.  
  
Something clicked in his mind and he shot to his feet, frantically checking himself for gray hairs. He found none – his pelt was pure ginger, as fluffy as a newly-minted apprentice's. He was young again – as young as when he'd first joined the clan.  
  
This was a day that would be seared into his mind forever; the day he'd wandered into the woods and stepped into a world wilder and more complicated than he could have ever imagined; the one choice he'd never regretted in his life. If he stepped outside and it was raining – if Smudge was there –  
  
Smudge. Firestar had barely thought of his friend since the clans had been forced to leave the forest, driven out by the Twoleg invasion. So many cats had died... if this were real, could he save them, too?  
  
Could he save Whitestorm?  
  
Cinderpelt?  
  
Spottedleaf?  
  
Bluestar?  
  
Could he stop Tigerstar before anyone got hurt?  
  
Firestar – Rusty, now, technically – ignored the dish beside him and bolted for the cat flap, hissing as his fur caught on the sides.  
  
He leaped to the top of the fence without breaking stride and stumbled on the landing. His collar was wrapped around his throat like a fox trap, cutting off his air supply, and it burned – he couldn't breathe, _he couldn't breathe –  
_  
_Get it off, get it off, get it off –_  
  
“– sty! Rusty!”  
  
The collar came free with a snap and Firestar – Rusty, his name was Rusty, he hated it, he wanted it gone – Rusty heaved a great, gasping breath. The air had never tasted so sweet.  
  
“Rusty?”  
  
A narrow black-and-white face filled Rusty's vision. He scrambled backward with a hiss and the face retracted hastily.  
  
“It's me, it's me!” the face yelped.  
  
Rusty blinked as the face resolved itself into the face of a plump black-and-white tom. A hauntingly familiar black-and-white tom.  
  
"Smudge?"  
  
"Hi," Smudge took a cautious step forward. "Are you going to claw my face off if I came closer?"  
  
Rusty just stared. Smudge was here. He was young. This...this was real.  
  
It was real.  
  
"Oh, no," Smudge muttered. "Please don't start panicking again."  
  
Rusty was seriously considering panicking again. What if he messed up – now that he knew what was going to happen, what if he couldn't stop it? What did that make him? A fool? An incompetent? A fox-hearted coward?  
  
He took a deep breath and managed to keep himself from spiraling. "I'm okay," he muttered.  
  
"Sure, you are." Smudge pressed up against Rusty's side. "Seriously, what happened?"  
  
"I saw..." Rusty trailed off, huffing a tired laugh. "I saw a lot. Cats dying. Suffering. Rising from the grave. There were good things, too, but..."  
  
Smudge was silent for a long moment. Then he butted his head against Rusty's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" he meowed.  
  
_Yes, but not with you_. In that moment, he missed Sandstorm so badly it hurt.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Oh, thank goodness." Smudge slumped dramatically. "I wouldn't have slept for weeks."  
  
Rusty snorted. "Weeks? Try 'ever again'. You and your poor, delicate constitution."  
  
Smudge nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly. See, you get it."  
  
Rusty snorted, feeling some of the tension ease out of him as he fell back into the habits of his kit-hood. He leaned easily against Smudge and stared into the forest beyond.  
  
Greystripe was out there somewhere, with Bluestar and Lionheart not far behind. All he had to do was step into the trees...  
  
Suddenly, this all seemed oppressively real.  
  
Stop Tigerstar – Tigerclaw. Save the cats he killed. Save Bluestar's family.  
  
It was impossibly simple; it was also downright impossible. And he could do it – or at least try.  
  
All he had to do was step into the trees.  
  
"I'm going into the forest."  
  
Smudge stared at him with round eyes. "What? Why? It's dangerous – you know what Henry said – ”  
  
Rusty snorted. "Henry doesn't know what he's talking about." He stood up, balancing precariously on the flimsy Twoleg fence, and looked back at Smudge. "I'm going to join the wild cats. I won't be able to see you much, but I'll try and visit once in a while. Look after Princess for me."  
  
Smudge lashed his tail ferociously enough that the fence wobbled, nearly pitching Rusty face-first into the dirt below. "You're not serious," he protested. "They'll eat you for breakfast."  
  
"Those dreams I had weren't just dreams," Rusty told him. "They were my friends. I have to protect them."  
  
"But you could die!"  
  
Rusty chuckled. "It wouldn't be the first time. Promise me you'll look after Princess?"  
  
"I – " Smudge sighed. "Okay, but – be careful!"  
  
"I will."  
  
With that, Rusty jumped off the fence and landed lightly on the ground below. He braced, preparing for the customary protests of his joints. They didn't come.  
  
That sealed it, really. He hadn't been able to make a jump like that without feeling it in moons.

* * *

Rusty relaxed as soon as he was underneath the trees. He welcomed the whisper of the wind in the leaves and the feel of solid, wild earth under his paws like old friends – it had been a long time since he'd been able to sit back and just... appreciate the world around him.  
  
"Welcome home."  
  
Rusty whipped around with a hiss, puffing his fur out on reflex. Then he blinked.  
  
The cat standing there - he assumed it was also the cat who'd spoken – was a massive reddish-brown tom with the scarred head of a seasoned warrior and the plump well-fed appearance of a kittypet.  
  
But the most startling thing was that the trees behind him were visible and he was wreathed in stars.  
  
Before Rusty could ask any of the thousand questions he had – _who are you, what's happened, why are you here_ – the cat vanished with an amused purr.  
  
So maybe it was less "opportunity to fix his mistakes" and more "fever dream of the dying," but he'd take what he could get.  
  
Rusty looked around, tasting the air – the wind was blowing towards Snakerocks, carrying with it the smells of Twoleg food and the pines of the Treecut place. In the immediate vicinity, he could taste a nest of thrushes, a vole (too faint to be above ground, it was probably burrowed somewhere) and...  
  
Mouse.  
  
It felt like he hadn't tasted mouse in ages.  
  
He fell into a hunting crouch as the mouse sat up among the brambles, nibbling on a large seed. Carefully, Rusty took one pace forward – two paces – and pounced.  
  
The mouse's squeak was cut short as Rusty's claws pierced its fragile skin and sliced through its neck. Snatching up his prize in his jaws, Rusty glanced around for a safe alcove where he could enjoy the fresh-kill.  
  
The wind shifted, and Rusty's hackles rose as the scent of fox hit his nose. He dropped the mouse as he wheeled toward the source of the smell, dropping low and unsheathing his claws with a hiss. Ahead of him, hiding behind a tall clump of ferns, he could see the telltale white-tipped red tail vanish into the greenery. A moment later, he saw the gleam of golden eyes and white teeth.  
  
The fox sprang and Rusty darted out of the way, raking his claws down its side, yowling when fox's jaws closed around his tail. The fox yanked him off-balance, sending him scrabbling for purchase – another yank and his paws slipped out from underneath him completely. His breath left him in a _whoof_ as he hit the ground. The fox loomed over him, jaws hanging open in a grin – Rusty wheezed in a breath, struggling to his feet –  
  
A yowling ball of grey fur slammed into the fox's side, sending it staggering. Rusty scrambled to his feet and rushed the fox, lashing out with his claws and scoring a hit. Red blood sprayed into the air from the gashes in the creature's muzzle and it backed away, yipping uncertainly.  
  
The grey ball of fur had resolved itself into a fluffy grey cat clinging to the fox's back, still yowling at the top of his lungs.  
  
“Greystripe!”  
  
Greypaw faltered. “What –”  
  
His question was cut off as the fox heaved itself against a nearby tree, knocking Greypaw to the floor. Before he could recover, the fox’s teeth sank into Greypaw’s hind leg.  
  
Greypaw screamed.  
  
Rusty lunged, catching the fox by the throat the same way he’d caught Tigerstar (StarClan, it had been today, but it was a whole other lifetime) and biting down hard.  
  
The fox gagged, releasing Greypaw, and struggled to dislodge the cat that was now ripping into the all-important vein in its throat. Rusty held fast, though, and soon the fox went limp, the light fading from its eyes.  
  
Rusty let it slump to the ground, turning to Greypaw with worry roiling in his belly. “Are you –”  
  
“You just killed a fox,” Greypaw said faintly, staring at him with wide yellow eyes. “You’re a _kittypet_ , how did you –”  
  
Rusty sighed. “I wasn’t always a kittypet – look, you need to see the medicine cat –”  
  
“Greypaw!”  
  
Rusty turned to see Lionheart shouldering his way out of the brush. The golden tabby tom looked younger than he remembered – perhaps it was the bias of youth that had turned Lionheart into the aged, silver-speckled elder of Rusty’s memories.  
  
Anger and concern warred on Lionheart’s face as he strode over to Greypaw, ignoring Rusty entirely. “What were you thinking?”  
  
“I couldn’t just let it eat him!” Greypaw winced as he tried to put weight on his injured leg. “Ow, ow, ow –”  
  
“Keep your weight off it,” Rusty hissed. It wasn’t bleeding the great spouting gushes that signaled a cat’s imminent journey to StarClan, but there was still a fair amount of blood and fox mouths were filthy. “Leafp –” _Wrong medicine cat_ , “– Spottedleaf will have something to keep it from getting infected.”  
  
Lionheart glared at him and opened his mouth to speak.  
  
“You know a great deal about ThunderClan, kittypet.”  
  
Rusty spun around to see Bluestar emerging from the undergrowth, as magnificent as he remembered. Her pelt shone and her eyes were sharp, shrewd, and clear – this was not the broken, mistrustful she-cat of her last moons, but the proud queen she was before…  
  
Before Tigerstar.  
  
Rusty dipped his head, taking a cautious step back. “Bluestar.”  
  
“And yet for all your knowledge, you still trespass on our land and steal our prey.” She tipped her head to the side. “Why is that?”  
  
“Bluestar –”  
  
“Take Greypaw back to camp, Lionheart.” Bluestar’s gaze did not waver from Rusty’s. “See his injury is tended to."  
  
Lionheart hesitated, his gaze flicking between Bluestar and Rusty before landing on Greypaw, who was leaning on Lionheart for support. Slowly, he nodded, and the pair disappeared into the forest in the direction of the camp.  
  
“Well?” Bluestar looked at him expectantly. “Why are you here?  
  
Rusty blinked. “I –” I want to save you, I want to stop Tigerstar, I want to see Sandstorm. “I want to join you.”  
  
Bluestar narrowed her eyes. “So you steal our prey?”  
  
“Not steal,” Rusty corrected, warming to the story. “I was planning on bringing it to you, to prove myself worthy of becoming an apprentice.”  
  
“To prove yourself,” Bluestar repeated. “I see.” She nodded to the mouse he’d caught, discarded as soon as he’d confronted the fox. “Bring your proof, then, kittypet. We will see what the clan makes of it.” With that, she turned tail and ran into the forest.  
  
Rusty scooped up his mouse and rushed after her. His heart soared – this was a much better first impression than last time.  
  
Just like Lionheart and Whitestorm all those moons ago – tomorrow – Bluestar made no allowances as she wound a dizzying path through the territory. Rusty clued into the winding route as soon as they left the Treecut Place and Bluestar headed towards Sunningrocks. He dropped back a few fox-lengths, feigning fatigue, then split off into the woods and made a beeline for the ThunderClan camp.  
  
He could smell the scent trails of warriors coming to and from, but even if he’d been deaf, blind, and nose-less, Rusty would still have been able to find the path to camp. He had not been in here in moons and moons, but he would never forget the forest.  
  
Ahead of him were the scents of Greypaw and another – Lionheart, he assumed, but Rusty hadn’t known the golden tom long enough to be familiar with his scent after so long. He slowed, dropping into a crouch as he made to slink past them. His whiskers twitched – imagine the looks on their faces when they see me waiting at the camp entrance – as he wove his way though a thicket of bracken, keeping one ear turned toward the pair.  
  
“…see him?” Greypaw sounded awed. “He’s so small! And a kittypet! And he just charged a fox like it was nothing – he was already getting up when I jumped on it, too – and then –”  
  
“I saw. Impressive, for a kittypet so young.” Lionheart’s praise was grudging.  
  
“You don’t think Bluestar’s going to hurt him, do you?” Greypaw asked anxiously. “I mean, he saved me.”  
  
“I doubt Bluestar will be too harsh with him, considering his actions.”  
  
There was silence on the path for a moment. Rusty resisted the urge to look over and see if he’d been spotted – with the moonlight scattered through the leaves like it was, any stray beam could set his eyes alight and give away his position.  
  
“Do you think he’d make a good warrior?”  
  
Lionheart heaved a sigh. “He’s a kittypet, Greypaw. He has led a soft, sheltered life. Even if he wished to join us – even if Bluestar would allow it – there is no guarantee he would be capable.”  
  
Rusty held back a snort. Soft, sheltered life! That was a fine thing to call what he’d been doing for the last few seasons: struggling against Onestar’s increasingly selfish leadership, leading ThunderClan against the Dark Forest invasion while his own clanmates were held under Tigerstar’s thrall, dealing with his mouse-brained grandkits.  
  
Thank StarClan for Jayfeather. He hoped the blind medicine cat had met Yellowfang in his dreams – they would have gotten along disastrously well.  
  
He cut a wider arc around the pair as the wind shifted and continued toward the ThunderClan camp.

* * *

Rusty had just finished cleaning the fox blood from his chest and paws when Bluestar appeared out of the foliage.  
  
“Kittypet.”  
  
Rusty dipped his head. “Bluestar.”  
  
Bluestar examined him with narrow eyes. “Do you know where our camp is?”  
  
Rusty pointed with his tail to the entrance. “Follow the smell of cat.”  
  
“Indeed.” Bluestar tossed her head. “Come, then.”  
  
Rusty picked up his mouse and followed Bluestar down the boulders and through the thick gorse that guarded the camp walls. The sensation of the worn-down track underneath his paws made the world tilt around him – he had never thought to set foot in the place again, yet here he was, following Bluestar as he had when he was young.  
  
He squared his shoulders as they exited to the gorse tunnel into the camp proper. Whitestorm was the first cat he spotted, and the sight of his long white fur filled Rusty with guilt. He squashed it – he was back. He could fix it, this time.  
  
A familiar, long-hated scent hit his nose and Rusty wheeled around to see Tigerstar – Tigerclaw, now, he wasn’t a leader yet (and never would be, if Rusty had anything to say about it) – padding towards them with Darkstripe at his side and Longtail trailing behind.  
  
Funny. Rusty had nearly forgotten that Longtail used to be one of Tigerclaw’s lackeys. The pale tabby looked so much younger, so different now than he had before.  
  
“Bluestar,” Tigerclaw greeted, dipping his head. “Are you still joining us for the moonhigh patrol?”  
  
“In a moment,” she responded, nodding to Rusty. “I must introduce him to the clan first, once Lionheart and Greypaw return. Speaking of apprentices,” she added, “where is your own, Tigerclaw?”  
  
Tigerclaw flicked his tail dismissively. “Hiding somewhere, no doubt. Ravenpaw fears his own shadow, it seems.”  
  
Rusty hissed. Ravenpaw was a fine, brave cat – it was Tigerclaw who was ruining him.  
Tigerclaw’s gaze swiveled towards him and Rusty stiffened, the fur on the back of his neck puffing out on instinct.  
  
Before Tigerclaw could rumble out a threat – and before Rusty could spit out something that would really get him into trouble – a yowl of “Spottedleaf!” came from the tunnel.  
  
Several cats turned toward the camp entrance – Rusty spotted Runningwind amongst them and his stomach clenched – to see Lionheart supporting the wounded Greypaw.  
  
Rusty dashed over immediately, barely slowing down to drop his mouse into the fresh-kill pile, and pressed himself against Greypaw’s other side.  
  
“I’m fine,” Greypaw insisted. “You worry too much.”  
  
But the walk back had taken its toll. Greypaw’s leg fur was thick with blood and he sagged against Rusty’s shoulder.  
  
“What’s your name again?” Greypaw muttered.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Rusty told him. “It’ll probably change by sunup anyway.”  
  
“Oh.” Greypaw nodded. “Sure. Makes sense.”  
  
Then Spottedleaf was there, pushing Rusty and Lionheart to the side and guiding Greypaw away. Rusty watched him go, kneading his paws into the dirt nervously.  
  
“You act as though you know him,” Lionheart rumbled.  
  
Rusty shrugged. “I know…of him. He’s a good cat. He’ll be a great warrior.”  
  
Lionheart rumbled and turned away.  
  
Bluestar’s yowl cut through the murmurs and hisses that were spreading through the clan camp. “Let all cats who are old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!”  
  
It was just as before – cats emerged from the edges of the clearing like liquid shadow, padding over to the Highrock and staring up expectantly at Bluestar. They sought her wisdom, her strength, her leadership…  
  
Rusty ducked his head as his thoughts strayed to the moons following Tigerclaw’s exile, when Fireheart had been in desperate need of all those things from her and instead found only madness.  
  
“ThunderClan needs more warriors,” Bluestar began. “Never before have we had so few apprentices in training. It has been decided that ThunderClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior…”  
  
Indignant mutters swept through the gathered cats.  
  
“– and I have found a cat,” she continued, glaring the clan down until they quieted, “who is willing to become an apprentice of ThunderClan.”  
  
“Lucky to become an apprentice!” Longtail howled from his place beside Tigerclaw.  
  
“This young cat, along with apprentice Greypaw,” Bluestar continued, ignoring Longtail’s outburst, “defeated a fox that had intruded on ThunderClan territory. He himself struck the killing blow, and already he has added fresh-kill to the pile. It is my decision that he should train with the other apprentices to become a full warrior of our clan.”  
  
ThunderClan, as one, stared at Rusty.  
  
He took the opportunity to make eye contact with Tigerclaw and lick some of the fox blood off his muzzle.  
  
Then Darkstripe, in Darkstripe fashion, ruined the moment by spitting, “He smells like Twoleg! You expect us to welcome a kittypet into our clan?”  
  
“Once a kittypet, always a kittypet!” Longtail yowled. “This clan needs wild-born warriors, not another soft mouth to feed!”  
  
Rusty paused in his washing to stare Longtail down. “If you’ve a challenge to make, then make it,” he said. “I’m not going to waste my time with your bluster.”  
  
Somewhere in the crowd, Dustpelt – Dustpaw – snickered.  
  
Longtail hissed and dropped into a crouch, but Rusty didn’t bother with the formalities. He lunged, barreling straight into Longtail and slashing at the older cat’s muzzle. Longtail was smarter than the fox, though, and ducked under the blow.  
  
Fur and dust flew as the two cats struggled against each other. Rusty’s blows were precise, practiced, but his soft kittypet body didn’t have the strength of a seasoned warrior, and his frustration only drove him to new heights of rage at Longtail’s short-sighted foolishness – and if he happened to score his claws across Tigerclaw’s flank in the process, well, that was just a bonus.  
  
Longtail was strong, stronger than Rusty – but he hadn’t lived the nine lives of a leader, and it showed. His first mistake came earlier than Rusty had anticipated, and he almost didn’t react in time out of surprise – but he slammed into Longtail’s undefended side, sending the larger cat crashing to the dirt. Rusty leaped upon him, sinking his claws into the ruff of fur guarding Longtail’s soft, vulnerable neck, and left them there.  
  
“Do you yield?” he hissed.  
  
Longtail spat at him, raking his hind paws across Rusty’s belly – but Rusty knew that trick and arched his spine, puffing out his fur and snarling, once again, “Do you yield?”  
  
Any answer from Longtail was drowned out by a thunderous caterwaul as Bluestar leaped down from the Highrock.  
  
“Enough!” she commanded. “He is beaten.” She turned to face the rest of the clan, and Rusty sheathed his claws and stepped back, allowing Longtail to scramble to his feet with ill grace.  
“The newcomer has proven himself in a battle for his honor,” Bluestar announced. “He has defeated the warrior Longtail and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”  
  
Bluestar glanced at him over her shoulder. “Even in the moonlight, you look like a fire,” she murmured. “You fought well.”  
  
Better than last time, Rusty reflected. Last time, he’d nearly been choked by his own collar.  
  
(He wondered, briefly, if the collar had remained buried in the dirt where he’d left it – if the Twolegs had moved it when they destroyed the forest, or if it was sealed beneath their dens and Thunderpaths for the rest of time.)  
  
Bluestar turned back to the rest of the clan. “From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat.”  
  
Firepaw (and oh, that name felt good) bowed his head. “Thank you, Bluestar.”  
  
Bluestar’s eyes gleamed briefly and she jumped back atop Highrock. “An apprentice needs a mentor,” she announced, “for a cat cannot learn without someone to teach them. However, the wrong mentor can destroy the most promising apprentice. Tigerclaw, your judgement is clear and honest.”  
  
Firepaw snorted.  
  
“Tomorrow, you will mentor Firepaw as though he were your own apprentice and assess his strengths.”  
  
_“What?”_ Firepaw yowled.  
  
Bluestar ignored him with supreme unconcern. “This meeting is adjourned.” With that, she jumped down from Highrock and padded over to Tigerclaw, who was licking the shallow cut that Firepaw had left in his flank.  
  
Firepaw backed away as they began speaking, then turned and headed for the medicine den. He ducked inside to see Spottedleaf pressing cobwebs into the puncture wounds on Greypaw’s hind leg. The blood had been cleaned away, and Firepaw noticed that the wounds themselves weren’t as large as he’d feared.  
  
“Is he going to be okay?” he asked, padding up to Greypaw’s other side.  
  
Spottedleaf flicked her tail. “He’ll be fine, although what possessed you two to take on a fox all by yourselves, I don’t know.”  
  
“We did fine!” Greypaw protested. “It’s only one little injury and the fox is dead.” He turned to Firepaw. “Do you have a name yet, by the way? I couldn’t hear Bluestar from in here.”  
  
“Firepaw.”  
  
Greypaw nodded. “Good name. Suits you. Do you have a mentor yet? Mine is Lionheart, but I bet you figured that out already – Dustpaw’s mentor is Redtail, the deputy –”  
  
Firepaw purred, delighted to see that Greypaw hadn’t changed a bit. “Not yet. Bluestar assigned me to Tigerclaw for tomorrow, something about assessing my strengths and weaknesses.”  
  
“You don’t like Tigerclaw?” Greypaw meowed, tilting his head.  
  
Firepaw tried to bite back a snarl and was only partially successful.  
  
Greypaw shrugged as best he could with Spottedleaf murmuring for him to hold still. “Well, suit yourself. But you’d better hope he likes you, or Bluestar will throw you out of the clan quicker than you can say ‘mouse’.”  
  
“Mouse.”  
  
Spottedleaf purred in amusement. “Very amusing, Firepaw. Now, shoo! I can’t help Greypaw with you hovering over him like a hawk.”  
  
Firepaw dipped his head and trotted out of the den. He eyed the fresh-kill pile, wondering if it was worth it – technically, he had fed the clan, but one measly mouse wasn’t much. In the end, he settled on a compromise and headed for the elder’s den.  
  
Dappletail was the first to spot him. “Ah, young Firepaw,” she rasped. “That was a fine fight. Longtail is young, but he is a fine warrior. You did well.”  
  
Firepaw dipped his head. “Thank you, Dappletail.” He glanced around at the other elders – One-eye, Smallear, Patchpelt, and Halftail – and, suddenly feeling very young, asked, “Have you eaten?”  
  
“This morning,” Patchpelt meowed. “But your arrival rather interrupted Sandpaw’s evening chores.”  
  
“I’ll bring you something,” Firepaw promised, and headed for the fresh-kill pile. Behind him, he heard Halftail wondering how Firepaw knew Dappletail’s name, and winced.  
  
Well, he’d already named Bluestar, Greypaw, and Spottedleaf without being introduced. It was a little late to feign ignorance now. He picked out a plump thrush from the fresh-kill pile and was reaching for a squirrel when he heard a growl from behind him.  
  
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Firepaw looked over to see Tigerclaw glowering at him, pale amber eyes blazing. “Feeding the elders,” Firepaw responded coolly. “They haven’t eaten since morning.”  
  
Tigerclaw continued to stare at him. “You know much of our clan, for a kittypet.”  
  
Firepaw bristled. “I wasn’t always a kittypet,” he growled. He snatched up a squirrel and took it, along with the thrush, over to the elder’s den.  
  
“Making friends already, I hear,” Dappletail remarked, taking a bite of the thrush. “Ah, wonderful. Thank you. Have you eaten yet today?”  
  
“Not yet,” Firepaw confessed. “I haven’t had the opportunity.” Not that it really mattered – as far as his body was concerned, he’d done nothing until shortly after moonrise.  
  
“Here.” Dappletail shoved the rest of the thrush at him. “Eat. You’ll need your strength for training tomorrow.”  
  
“I’ll manage,” Firepaw demurred, thinking of the hungry moons of the Great Journey. “I’m sure you need your strength as well.”  
  
Dappletail snorted. “To do what? Sit and tell stories? If it’s so terrible I’ll fetch myself another sparrow.”  
  
“That’s a thrush,” Patchpelt muttered.  
  
“Whichever. Eat.”  
  
Firepaw bent his head obediently and took a bite of thrush. Warm blood flooded his mouth – the taste was incredible, and it took all his willpower to push it back towards Dappletail instead of fnishing it off right there.  
  
“Oh, I think not,” Dappletail said, amused. “Eat up, apprentice. Tigerclaw’s not going to be kind you, not after that display.”  
  
“He’s just…” Firepaw searched for a descriptor that wasn’t immediately incriminating. “He’s so…intense. Single-minded. I’ve known cats like that, they never end happily.”  
  
“He can be a tad overwhelming,” Halftail agreed. “But he’s a fine cat, and one of the best warriors in the clan. Try not to let your first impressions sour your perception of him.”  
  
_Too late for that,_ Firepaw thought. He finished the thrush quickly and meowed his thanks to Dappletail, who waved him off.  
  
“You’ve got guts, youngster,” she meowed. “It’s good for Tigerclaw to be challenged every so often.”  
  
Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“Good.” Dappletail yawned. “Now, shoo.”  
  
Firepaw shooed. He padded over to the apprentice den, slipping through the ferns to find Ravenpaw, Dustpaw, and Sandpaw curled up in their respective nests. Sandpaw raised her head as he entered, sniffing rudely and wrinkling her nose.  
  
“What’s that stench?” she meowed. “It smells like kittypet!”  
  
Firepaw sighed. Apparently, this nonsense was going to be happening again.  
  
He knew she’d snap out of it, but it was still going to grate on him.  
  
“Hello, Sandpaw,” he said wearily. He saw Dustpaw turn his head to see what was going on. “Dustpaw. Does she have a hairball stuck somewhere, or is she usually this bad-tempered?”  
  
Sandpaw hissed at him and turned away pointedly. Firepaw rolled his eyes, suppressing a fond purr (she was a wonderful cat, a fine hunter, a fierce warrior with a brilliant sense of humor – or at least, she would be). He padded over to where Ravenpaw was curled up unmoving, presumably asleep, and raked together a pile of soft moss with his claws. He kneaded it into a comfortable shape, circled a few times, and then settled down to sleep.  
  
He was _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this idea for a while - everybody buckle up it's about to be wild.
> 
> Also - if you liked this chapter, check out my tumblr @smug-albatross where I make shitposts and post writing sometimes.


	2. Chapter 2

Firepaw slid through the woods with ease, luxuriating in the familiarity of the lakeside forests. The old Thunderpath ran past the camp up to the abandoned Twoleg nest, where mice and birds could be found in abundance. It was one of his favorite places to go to get away from the hustle and bustle of camp and _think_ without feeling like he was shirking his duties.

He rounded a bend in the path and stopped short. There was no Twoleg nest, no Thunderpath – instead, there was a clearing where a clear spring, shining silver in the moonlight, sat.

A cat, who had been dozing at the edge of the spring, lifted his head as Firepaw approached.

“Ah, there you are,” the cat rumbled, sitting up. “I was starting to worry if you’d ever get to sleep.” He stood, and Firepaw realized with an uneasy jolt that this cat was _massive_ – tall and broad, with crossed scars on his muzzle. The same cat Firepaw had seen wreathed in stars after entering the forest.

Unfamiliar cats turning up in dreams had a poor track record. This place might not look like the Dark Forest – it wasn’t particularly dark, to start with – but Firepaw flattened his ears against his skull and hissed warningly.

The cat dipped his head. “Peace, Firestar. I mean you no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

_Firestar._

That was his _name,_ the one he’d earned with the blood in his veins. Except he hadn’t – not yet.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Pinestar,” the cat answered. “I led ThunderClan when Bluestar was young.”

“She wasn’t your deputy, though,” Firepaw guessed. “Was she?”

Pinestar shook his head. “No, that honor was Sunstar’s.” He flicked his tail dismissively. “But enough of that. I imagine you have questions.”

“Several,” Firepaw growled. “As grateful as I am for the second chance – why am I here? Tigerstar was defeated. The clans were _safe!”_ His voice rose dangerously close to a wail. “What more do you _want_ from me?”

“Safe,” Pinestar echoed. “Was it? Was it truly?” His green eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Clanmate was turned against clanmate. Littermates shed each other’s blood. Is there any _safe_ after that?”

Firepaw wanted to caterwaul his frustration. “Then what was I supposed to _do?”_ he hissed.

“I do not know,” Pinestar admitted. “But I hope you will find the path that saves us. I care for my clan, Firestar. Every one of them.”

“So do I,” Firepaw snapped.

“Good,” Pinestar meowed. “Then we have hope.”

* * *

“Firepaw. Firepaw, wake up.” 

Firepaw shot to his feet with a hiss, his ears pinned against his skull and his fur sticking out in all directions.

Ravenpaw yelped and skittered backward, kicking moss directly into Sandpaw’s face.

“Hey, watch it!” she snapped.

“Sorry!"

Firepaw relaxed, smoothing his fur down. “What is it? Sunup?”

Ravenpaw nodded, still looking spooked. “W-we should be ready to meet Tigerclaw,” he meowed uncertainly.

“C’mon then,” Firepaw said awkwardly, stepping around Ravenpaw to leave the den. Sandpaw and Dustpaw had either fallen back asleep or were pretending (Firepaw strongly suspected the latter) and Greypaw was nowhere to be seen, which meant he had either begun the day’s training already or he was still in the medicine den.

Once again, Firepaw _strongly_ suspected the latter.

“I’m going to check on Greypaw,” Firepaw said, silently marveling at the lack of creaking joints in his stride. “Care to join me?”

“Um, sure.” Ravenpaw glanced toward the camp entrance. “Do…do we have time?”

Firepaw paused. “Good question. How on-time is Tigerclaw, usually?”

“Um…”

“Why don’t you wait for him?” Firepaw suggested. “I’ll tell Greypaw you asked after him.”

Ravenpaw nodded gratefully and padded over to the camp entrance, giving himself a quick wash.

Firepaw turned back to the medicine den and padded inside, shouldering aside the ferns at the entrance. Inside, Greypaw was sprawled out on his side, breathing evenly, with his injured leg sticking out and covered in cobwebs and chewed-up herbs. He looked _painfully_ young, and Firepaw was forcefully reminded of the aging tom he’d left behind, with his shoulders weighed down by Silverstream and Feathertail and Millie and Briarlight and _whatever_ had happened to him after he’d been taken by Twolegs (Greystripe had never given him the full story) …

He was so young. Everyone was.

“Firepaw?”

Firepaw jumped as Spottedleaf’s drowsy voice floated over to him from the corner of the den. “Spottedleaf – I was just leaving,” he managed, his voice made rough by memory. He took a step back. “Just seeing how he was doing.”

Spottedleaf dipped her lovely head. “Your loyalty does you credit,” she told him. “I’ll tell him you stopped by. He’ll appreciate it.”

“Tell him Ravenpaw came too,” Firepaw added. “He wanted to, but one of us had to wait for Tigerclaw.”

“I see.” Spottedleaf’s whiskers twitched. “You’re brave indeed, then, to risk being late for your first day of training.”

Firepaw flicked his tail. “I doubt I’d miss much.”

“That’s no way to start your apprenticeship,” she scolded. The amusement in her eyes faded as she glanced at a point over his shoulder – but just as quickly it returned, and her attention was on him again. “Good luck, Firepaw.”

Firepaw dipped his head. “Thank you, Spottedleaf.” _I’m going to need it._

He stepped out of the medicine den and trotted over to the camp entrance where Ravenpaw was waiting. A cat Firepaw couldn’t quite name – a tuft-eared tortoiseshell tom with a bright red tail – was sitting nearby, finishing off a small mouse. Tigerclaw was approaching from the warrior’s den.

Firepaw sped up his pace to make sure he got there first.

The tortoiseshell tom looked up. “Ah, young Firepaw. I heard about your scrap with Longtail.” The tip of his tail twitched. “I’d introduce myself, but Bluestar tells me you know everyone’s name already.”

“Er,” Firepaw glanced at Ravenpaw in search of a clue, but Tigerclaw had approached and Ravenpaw’s mouth was sealed firmly shut.

“Redtail,” Tigerclaw meowed, dipping his head.

Firepaw gasped.

 _Redtail_ – the ThunderClan deputy that Firepaw had never met, the one who had died the same day he’d arrived. He’d been slain at Sunningrocks by Tigerclaw and the dead RiverClan deputy had taken the fall.

Oakheart. The father of Bluestar’s kits.

“Firepaw?”

Firepaw realized that the fur on the back of his spine had prickled up. He smoothed his fur back down. “Sorry?”

“Pay attention, kittypet,” Tigerclaw growled. “I _said,_ we will be on dawn patrol today. This will introduce you to the borders and show you what you will be defending and where you will be hunting. Runningwind will be joining us shortly.”

Firepaw nodded. He glanced back at Redtail, who looked mostly amused but was examining Firepaw with an uncomfortable closeness. “What about you?” he asked. “Will you be joining us as well?”

Redtail shook his head. “I’ll be organizing the day’s patrols. But I imagine I’ll be joining you for the sunhigh patrol.”

Tigerclaw swung his head around to stare at Redtail. “The dawn _and_ sunhigh patrols? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“Never,” Redtail meowed, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “You and Ravenpaw are free to train as you wish after the dawn patrol, Tigerclaw. It’s Firepaw I’ll be taking with me.”

Firepaw blinked.

“I see.” Tigerclaw’s voice was neutral. “I’ll bear that in mind. Good luck with the patrols, Redtail.”

Redtail’s whiskers twitched. “I expect I’ll need it.” He flicked his tail toward the camp entrance. “Best get going. The sun isn’t getting any less risen.”

Tigerclaw grunted and shouldered his way past Redtail and through the camp entrance. Ravenpaw bounded after him, but Firepaw lingered behind, studying Redtail and trying to commit the tom to memory.

“I hope to see you at sunhigh,” he meowed.

Redtail tilted his head. “As do I,” he replied eventually.

Firepaw dipped his head and ran after Tigerclaw.

Tigerclaw stared at Firepaw as he emerged into the forest, disapproval weighing heavily in his gaze. Firepaw stared back unflinchingly, and eventually Tigerclaw grunted and shifted to face both apprentices. “Follow me.”

Firepaw and Ravenpaw followed silently as Tigerclaw led them to an old Twoleg path – long stale, just like last time – then through Tallpines and along the RiverClan border, towards Sunningrocks.

The fur on the back of his neck prickled.

His legs began to ache as Tigerclaw led them on towards Fourtrees – his body wasn’t used to this much exercise, even though he remembered walking this exact patrol a hundred times before. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself forward, refusing to give Tigerclaw the satisfaction of seeing him struggle. He endured Tigerclaw’s Fourtrees lecture about clan loyalty in stony silence, trying to keep the sneer off his muzzle.

Judging by Tigerclaw’s glare, he was only partially successful.

They returned to camp shortly before sunhigh, the pads of Firepaw’s feet were raw (he suspected they might be bleeding, but he refused to check until he was out of sight of Tigerclaw) and his muscles were burning badly enough that he was hiding a limp.

Ravenpaw dropped back next to him when Tigerclaw wandered off in the direction of the fresh-kill pile. “Are you okay?” he whispered. “Patrols don’t usually travel that fast.”

Well, that was concerning. “I’m fine,” Firepaw assured him, stretching his legs carefully. “Just a little sore. Not used to that much walking.”

“You’ll get there,” Ravenpaw meowed encouragingly. “All apprentices have that problem. It just takes some getting used to.”

Firepaw dipped his head in gratitude and padded over to Spottedleaf’s den, ducking inside to see Greypaw chewing disconsolately on a mouse. He perked up when he saw Firepaw approaching, gulping down a mouthful of fresh-kill.

“You’re alive!” he said cheerily. “Spottedleaf said you stopped by. How’s Tigerclaw?”

“The elders keep telling me to keep an open mind,” Firepaw drawled, coming over to sit next to Greypaw and inspecting his paws. They were sore, but they didn’t appear damaged – not like they had been when he’d run himself bloody on the stones of SkyClan’s gorge territory. “I’ve kept an open mind, and my open mind has decided that I hate him and all that he stands for.”

Greypaw blinked. “Um. Okay. That bad?”

“That bad.”

Greypaw blinked again. “Well, all right then.” He pushed the rest of his mouse over to Firepaw. “Did you eat yet?”

“Not yet.” Firepaw dipped his head gratefully and finished up the mouse. “How long are you stuck here for?”

Greypaw shrugged a shoulder. “Probably just today. Spottedleaf says that another night’s rest should get me back to normal.”

“That’s good,” Firepaw meowed. He licked his paws briefly. “I’m glad you’re here, Greypaw.”

“Um.” Greypaw blinked. “Me too?”

“I’m on sunhigh patrol with Redtail,” Firepaw added. “So I can’t stay. Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Greypaw shrugged. “I’m fine. Bored, but fine.” He flicked his tail at Firepaw’s side. “Now get going! You don’t want to be late for Redtail.”

Firepaw purred. “You’re probably right. Bye, Greypaw.”

“See you later!”

Firepaw left the medicine den behind as he padded over to the camp entrance, where Redtail was speaking to Dustpaw and Runningwind. The deputy looked over as Firepaw approached.

“Ah, there you are. Visiting Greypaw?”

Firepaw nodded.

Redtail nodded approvingly. “Your loyalty does you credit. Have you eaten?”

Firepaw shrugged. “We shared a mouse.”

“Good.” Redtail stood up. “We’ll be checking the RiverClan border today. I assume Tigerclaw showed you the area?”

“He did,” Firepaw admitted grudgingly.

Redtail paused. “Why don’t you lead us there, then?”

Firepaw had the sinking feeling that he’d done something wrong, but he just nodded and led the patrol out of camp with Redtail shadowing his every pawstep and Dustpaw grumbling under his breath.

He led the patrol towards Sunningrocks on instinct, until he realized _where_ he was taking _Redtail_ , of all cats, and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Did you get lost?” Dustpaw hissed.

(Firepaw did not smack Dustpaw in the face with his tail, and anyone who says so is a liar in Tigerclaw’s employ.)

“You’re going the right way,” Redtail meowed. “Is something wrong?”

 _You shouldn’t be here,_ Firepaw thought, but there was no good way to say that without getting thrown in the river himself, so he just shook his head and kept going – a little slower, this time. Maybe if he delayed long enough, the sunhigh patrol would miss RiverClan’s patrol and everything would be fine. Tigerclaw and Ravenpaw were elsewhere. Maybe it would be _fine._

He tasted the air and his heart sank as he caught the scents of Tigerclaw and his apprentice.

“Fox dung,” he muttered.

“What was that, Firepaw?”

Firepaw glanced back at Redtail. “Tigerclaw and Ravenpaw are ahead.”

Redtail’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t offer comment.

Dustpaw did. “Didn’t Tigerclaw say he was going to take Ravenpaw for battle training?”

“Perhaps he had a change of heart,” Redtail meowed.

Firepaw couldn’t take his eyes off Redtail. “Maybe,” he said doubtfully.

Redtail brushed past Firepaw and took over the patrol without a word. Firepaw trailed after him, stumbling to the side when Dustpaw knocking him aside to follow his mentor, leaving Firepaw in the back with Runningwind.

Runningwind didn’t speak, but he could feel the warrior’s eyes burning holes in his fur as they followed Redtail onward, inexorably toward Sunningrocks. With every pawstep, Firepaw felt the little cold ball in his stomach growing heavier and heavier. He struggled to keep his paws moving – at this point, his ears were permanently pinned to his skull and he’d given up on them entirely.

The trees thinned, and Sunningrocks was ahead. Firepaw’s heart sank as he saw a reddish-brown tom yowling a challenge from the top of Sunningrocks.

Redtail ground his teeth audibly as Firepaw stepped up behind him, scrambling to remember _exactly_ what had happened last time – Redtail had been slain by Tigerclaw, but it had been the RiverClan deputy who had taken the blame – but it was _so long ago_ –

 _“Save them,”_ Pinestar hissed in his ear. _“Save them both, Firestar of ThunderClan. Let no lifeblood be shed this day!”_

“Might be difficult,” Firepaw mumbled as Tigerclaw stalked out of the woods, snarling a response to Oakheart’s taunts. Ravenpaw trailed behind him, trying to disappear into his mentor’s shadow; the fur on the back of Firepaw’s spine stood up and he felt his lip curl.

Oakheart said something – something Firepaw didn’t catch – and Tigerclaw flung himself at the RiverClan deputy with a yowl of outrage.

Redtail and Dustpaw surged forward. Firepaw made to follow, but Runningwind caught him by the tail. “Stay back,” he growled, and lunged forward to join the fight.

Firepaw did not stay back.

He darted through the fray to where Tigerclaw and Oakheart were trading blows and Ravenpaw was struggling underneath a RiverClan warrior Firepaw didn’t recognize. He leapt onto her back and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She yowled, but Firepaw clung on long enough for Ravenpaw to scramble to his feet and flee before leaping away and slipping up to Redtail’s flank.

The deputy’s right side was guarded by Dustpaw, who fought with all the ferocity Firepaw remembered and only half the skill. Firepaw took the left, matching Redtail blow for blow until he heard a yowl of pain from Oakheart.

He glanced up to the top of Sunningrocks to see Oakheart backing away from Tigerclaw with a hiss, bleeding profusely from a set of deep scratches on his shoulder. His eyes darted around, settling for Firepaw for a fleeting moment before raising his voice to a yowl.

_“RiverClan! Retreat!”_

Firepaw watched as the RiverClan cats hissed and followed their deputy’s orders. The apprentice Firepaw had pulled off of Ravenpaw limped as she pulled herself out of the river, sending a venomous glare in Firepaw’s direction before disappearing into the undergrowth.

He took a cautious step toward the place where Tigerclaw and Oakheart were still waiting, staring each other down as Oakheart watched his clanmates vanish into his territory.

_The rockfall – there’s supposed to be a rockfall._

“This isn’t over,” Oakheart hissed, taking a step backwards.

The sudden _crack_ of crumbling stone filled the air.

Firepaw saw Oakheart’s eyes widen.

He saw Sunningrocks begin to move.

_Let no lifeblood be spilled this day._

Firepaw lunged forward, throwing his full weight into Oakheart’s unbalanced form. Oakheart yowled in surprise as he fell away from Firepaw’s outstretched paws and then –

Crushing pain, and nothing.

* * *

“You _idiot!”_

Firepaw pried his eyes open to find himself in the same clearing from his dream the previous night. Pinestar was standing over him, prodding him anxiously.

“Get off,” he growled weakly, batting Pinestar’s paw away. “You _told_ me to save them.”

“Not at the cost of your own life!” Pinestar yowled. “Firepaw, you cannot _fathom_ how important you’ve become – it was only thanks to you that Tigerstar was thwarted –”

“This was your idea,” Firepaw hissed. “Live with it! Or don’t,” he added. “In your case.”

Pinestar made a strangled noise in his throat and stepped back, allowing Firepaw to rise to his feet.

Standing next to Pinestar was a faint, shimmering outline of a young ginger tom.

“Oh,” Firepaw said faintly.

Pinestar snorted. _“Oh,_ indeed. You’re lucky that bringing you back seems to have restored all nine of your lives, not just the one you were born with.”

“Indeed,” Firepaw mused. This changed things a fair bit…

“You have eight left,” Pinestar reminded him. _“Don’t_ get caught in any more rockslides.”

“No promises.”

The clearing faded with Pinestar’s yowl of frustration ringing in Firepaw’s ears.

* * *

_“Firepaw!"_

Firepaw shot to his paws, gasping for air. His chest ached abominably – he looked down and saw the shattered remains of the top of Sunningrocks shattered at his feet.

“You…” Oakheart trailed off, shaking his head. The muscular tom backed away and turned tail, limping into the forest after his clanmates.

Firepaw stared at the cats around him. Runningwind was staring up the slope of Sunningrocks, craning his neck to try and see what was happening, jaws still half-parted in a yowl. Ravenpaw was nowhere in sight. Dustpaw was bleeding from some injury and Redtail was largely concerned with his apprentice’s wellbeing. Tigerclaw –

Tigerclaw was staring at him as if he’d never seen him before.

“What _are_ you?” the tabby warrior hissed.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Firepaw snarled. He stepped around the stunned warrior and leaped lightly down Sunningrocks to greet an increasingly-agitated Runningwind.

The tabby warrior sniffed him, giving him a careful once-over. “Are you injured?”

Firepaw shrugged. “Not badly. Just some bruises.”

Runningwind narrowed his eyes. “You’ll be seeing Spottedleaf when we get back.”

Arguing would be useless, so Firepaw just dipped his head. “Where’s Ravenpaw?”

“Heading back to camp to tell them what happened here,” Runningwind told him as they both walked over to Redtail and Dustpaw. “You may want to catch up with him. He was quite worried you’d died.”

“Sounds like Ravenpaw,” Firepaw admitted. _Technically, he’s not wrong._ “Are you okay, Dustpaw?”

“It’s nothing,” Dustpaw said through gritted teeth.

Redtail snapped at him to be quiet.

Now that he was closer, Firepaw could see several deep claw marks in Dustpaw’s side. They didn’t look deep enough to be life-threatening on their own, but they looked painful and – based on what Firepaw had picked up from Cinderpelt and Yellowfang – very likely to get infected.

“I think you need to see Spottedleaf more than I do,” he meowed.

Redtail spared him a glance and nodded curtly. “Come,” he ordered. “We return to camp. Another patrol with have to secure the rest of the border.” He gave Firepaw a nod. “You fought well.”

“Thanks,” Firepaw replied dumbly. “You’re not dead either.”

Tigerclaw growled.

* * *

Greypaw was sharing a mouse with Sandpaw – who was actually tolerable when she wasn’t sneering at Firepaw – when Ravenpaw came crashing through the tunnel, shaking from ears to tail-tip. Greypaw saw blood staining the dark fur on Ravenpaw’s chest as he staggered forward.

“Ravenpaw?” Bluestar stepped forward, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “What’s happened?”

“Firepaw –” Ravenpaw’s voice splintered. “Firepaw’s dead!”

Murmurs and hisses swept through the camp. “Ha!” Darkstripe yowled derisively. “The kittypet can’t even last a day –”

 _“You shut your fox-tongued mouth, Darkstripe!”_ Greypaw yowled, wheeling on the tabby warrior. “Firepaw saved my _life!”_

Darkstripe sneered. “Oh, and a fine life it was if you needed a _kittypet_ to save you –”

“Enough!” Bluestar commanded, shouldering her way through the hastily-parting crowd. “Firepaw was a part of this clan, and we will mourn him as we would any clanmate.” She said this as she stared at Darkstripe, who lowered his head with ill grace.

When she was satisfied, Bluestar turned to regard Ravenpaw. “What happened?”

Ravenpaw swallowed. “We m-met five RiverClan warriors at Sunningrocks,” he meowed. “Along with Redtail’s patrol. Oakheart was among them –”

“Oakheart!” Greypaw hissed. “If that fox-hearted coward killed _Firepaw_ –”

“Shut up!” Sandpaw snapped.

“– the fighting was vicious,” Ravenpaw was saying. “I saw Firepaw f-fighting a RiverClan warrior – Oakheart called a retreat, but –”

A yowl cut off the rest of Ravenpaw’s sentence as the bracken tunnel into camp shivered. Tigerclaw entered camp first, then Redtail, who was supporting a wounded Dustpaw.

Greypaw felt his hackles rise. If they’d left Firepaw to be eaten by crows –

He saw a flash of ginger fur and Firepaw entered camp, alive and whole and (mostly) unhurt, a few paces behind Redtail.

The ginger apprentice padded over to Greypaw after exchanging a quiet word with Dustpaw, seemingly oblivious to the stares of the clan.

“Well, that was exhausting,” he meowed, flopping down beside Greypaw and starting to groom himself – Greypaw noticed belatedly that the fur on Firepaw’s back and shoulders was sticking out in every direction.

“What happened?” Sandpaw asked. “Ravenpaw came barreling into camp yowling that you were dead. Greypaw nearly clawed Darkstripe’s ears off.”

Firepaw paused in his grooming. “Really?”

Greypaw shuffled his paws in front of him. “Darkstripe’s a mouse-brain,” he muttered.

Firepaw snorted. “You can say that again. I’m assuming he said something about kittypets.”

“Shock of shocks.” Greypaw tilted his head. “Didn’t you say you weren’t always a kittypet?”

Firepaw nodded as he smoothed down the fur on one shoulder. “When Lionheart found us after the fox fight, I think.”

“You weren’t?” Sandpaw meowed. “What were you, then? A loner?” A sneer entered her voice. “A rogue?”

Firepaw sighed. “No and no – well, actually,” he corrected himself, “depending on your definition of rogue, then I suppose I was one for a while.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Greypaw meowed hastily, seeing Sandpaw’s eyes narrow. “Are you okay? What happened at Sunningrocks?”

“I’m fine,” Firepaw said wearily. He sighed. “Look, Oakheart called a retreat but part of Sunningrocks started to collapse. I pushed him out of the way, but I got clipped by the landslide. I guess from Ravenpaw’s perspective it looked like I was buried.” As he spoke, he was staring at a fixed point over Greypaw’s shoulder.

Greypaw twisted around to see Tigerclaw standing maybe a fox-length away, staring right back at Firepaw. After a moment, he turned and stalked toward the medicine den.

Firepaw got to his feet. “I should go see how Dustpaw’s doing. Those scratches looked nasty.”

Greypaw watched him go.

“He doesn’t _look_ like he was clipped by a rockslide,” Sandpaw meowed suspiciously. “He doesn’t have a mark on him, but he walks like he got hit by a badger.”

Greypaw nodded. “And Ravenpaw’s not stupid. He’s nervous,” he added, “but he doesn’t make mistakes like ‘buried’ instead of ‘knocked down’.” Something else occurred to him. “And why would he push _Oakheart_ out of the way? He’s not ThunderClan.”

“Maybe he was born in RiverClan,” Sandpaw suggested, “but he got grabbed by the Twolegs and they made him a kittypet.”

“I feel like we would have heard about that,” Greypaw muttered. “It would have come up at a Gathering.”

“Not if it happened after the last Gathering,” Sandpaw disagreed. “The full moon is tomorrow night. It’s possible.”

“Maybe,” Greypaw meowed, staring at the medicine den where Firepaw had disappeared to.

* * *

Dustpaw glanced over at the entrance of the medicine den as Firepaw stepped inside and tucked himself into a corner, watching silently. The voices of Redtail and Spottedleaf faded to a dull murmur as Dustpaw remembered what Firepaw had whispered to him as he walked past. 

_“Stay close to Redtail.”_

He shivered. There was something about Firepaw – a weight to him that made him hard not to listen to – but those four words had carried a world of experience and command that Dustpaw couldn’t even fathom.

_Stay close to Redtail._

Dustpaw glanced over at his mentor and silently vowed that he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't read _Redtail's Debt_ so hopefully, Redtail isn't _wildly_ out of character.
> 
> Someone made fanart!! Thanks so much for lovely banner from [altiasdog](https://www.deviantart.com/altiasdog)  
> 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, check out my tumblr @smug-albatross where I make shitposts and post writing sometimes.


	3. Chapter 3

The day of the Gathering passed without incident. Most of the warriors seemed content to believe that Ravenpaw had simply been mistaken about Firepaw’s untimely demise, but the other apprentices were all acting oddly. Ravenpaw was skittish to the point of not making eye contact, Greypaw had glued himself to Firepaw’s side – except for when he was engaged with fiercely whispered conversations with Sandpaw that ended whenever Firepaw got close. Dustpaw was confined to the medicine den, but Firepaw had caught him sneaking out to follow Redtail on the dawn patrol.

At least he was taking Firepaw’s warning seriously.

Firepaw listened patiently as Lionheart and Tigerclaw taught him, Greypaw, and Ravenpaw the basics of hunting mice and rabbits (as if Firepaw didn’t know this already – as if Firepaw hadn’t _taught_ this already). The highlight of the morning was when, after being encouraged to practice stalking, Firepaw had stalked _Tigerclaw._

The presence of the others was likely the only reason both Firepaw and Tigerclaw were still alive.

Tigerclaw was as cruel to Ravenpaw as ever, and the pouncing incident had been preceded by a snarling match that Lionheart had to break up. Firepaw _had_ caught a pair of mice, however, which he had presented to the warriors with no small amount of smugness after Tigerclaw’s constant criticism.

At sundown, Firepaw brought Dustpaw and Spottedleaf fresh-kill without thinking about it. His mind was too preoccupied with what Redtail had just told him – that he and Sandpaw would be attending the Gathering.

He didn’t know what had _happened_ at this Gathering. Sandpaw and Dustpaw had told him, probably, at some point, but he couldn’t remember any of it and it disturbed him.

“Firepaw?”

Firepaw blinked and looked at Dustpaw. “Hm?”

Dustpaw glanced over to where Spottedleaf was nosing through her store of herbs and lowered his voice. “Why did you tell me to stay close to Redtail?”

Firepaw shuffled his paws in the mossy ground of the medicine den. “It’s just a feeling,” he lied, “but I think he’s in danger.”

Dustpaw’s ears fell back against his skull. “You think RiverClan will want revenge?” he whispered. “For Sunningrocks?”

Firepaw shook his head. “Not RiverClan.” He stood, eager to escape before Dustpaw could ask any questions Firepaw couldn’t answer. “I should go. Bluestar will be calling the cats for the Gathering soon.”

Dustpaw looked like he wanted to say more, but he nodded. “Good luck.”

Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “You too, Dustpe – paw,” he corrected himself, wincing. He’d gotten so caught up in the conversation – which was so much like one he might have had with Dustpelt the warrior instead of Dustpaw the apprentice – that he’d forgotten who, exactly, he was talking to.

Spottedleaf watched him leave.

~~

As ThunderClan crested the slope that led to Fourtrees, Firepaw was hit by a wave of memory so powerful it froze him in place.

_The massive Twoleg monsters roared as they tore the ancient oaks from the earth and flung them aside like a fox would a mouse – the Great Rock was crushed to rubble with a deafening blast that shook the world –_

Firepaw staggered under the memory’s crushing weight. It was over, the clans were dying –

_Surely the world was ending –_

“Firepaw!”

Runningwind’s impatient mew cut through the memory like claws through water. Firepaw’s eyes snapped up to meet the tabby’s impatient green gaze.

The young warrior’s expression quickly morphed from irritation to concern. “Are you all right?”

Firepaw flicked his tail, trying for nonchalance and missing by several fox-lengths. “I’m fine,” he mewed shakily. “It’s nothing.”

He brushed past Runningwind and loped into the clearing after the rest of the clan, trying to conceal his trembling.

For all his knowledge, for all his skill, he couldn’t stop the Twolegs from coming to the forest.

The first cat he saw was Tallstar, speaking amicably with Crookedstar at the base of the Great Rock. He recognized Deadfoot nearly, squinting suspiciously at the surroundings. Onestar – One _whisker_ – wasn’t far away, chatting happily with a pair of cats Firepaw didn’t recognize. The sight of Onewhisker sent a pang through Firepaw. Leadership changed a cat, he reflected, and not always for the better.

Brokenstar sat alone with Blackstar – Black _foot,_ Firepaw corrected himself – exchanging murmured words and shooting venomous looks in WindClan’s direction. His warriors clustered near him, talking among themselves, and the apprentices started to mingle with other clans.

 _The apprentices._ The apprentices were _tiny_ – they were kits – one had the same tabby pelt as Leafpool and Firepaw felt his stomach twist in horror at the thought of his gentle daughter as a kit, forced into a battle between trained warriors.

Firepaw pinned his ears to his skull and hissed.

“What’s up with you?” Sandpaw asked, appearing on Firepaw’s other side. She followed her gaze to the ShadowClan cats and her ears fell. “Oh.”

 _“Oh,”_ Firepaw spat, raking his gaze. “Look at the apprentices, Sandpaw.”

Sandpaw squinted. “They look small,” she said uncertainly.

“Small?” Firepaw spat. “They’re _kits!_ That one there,” he pointed to the tabby kit that reminded him of Leafpool, “how old do you suppose she is? Four moons? Five?”

Sandpaw was visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “She could be six moons old. Maybe she’s just small.”

“And the others?” Firepaw demanded, swinging around to glare at her. “Are they also _just small?”_

Sandpaw took a step back. “I don’t know!” she snapped. “It’s in the warrior code – kits can’t train to be warriors before six moons – not that you’d know,” she added with a sneer. “Even ShadowClan wouldn’t –”

“Wouldn’t what?” Firepaw snapped. “Send its kits into battle against grown warriors?”

“You can’t prove that’s what ShadowClan is doing!”

“Can’t I?” Firepaw snarled and stalked into the crowd.

Once he was out of Sandpaw’s sight, he sat down on an unoccupied patch of ground and took a deep, calming breath. He hadn’t _meant_ to jump down her throat like that, but he couldn’t look at the tiny ShadowClan “apprentices” without seeing Squirrelkit and Leafkit and Lionkit and Hollykit and Cloudkit and Dovekit and Ivykit – Lionblaze, admittedly, would be fine no matter his age, but the others – _the others_ – StarClan, Jayfeather had struggled as an _apprentice_ , how much worse would it have been as a _kit_ –

It made Firepaw sick.

He shut his eyes to banish the image of little Leafkit, her throat stained with lifeblood, sprawled motionless on the forest floor.

“Young Firepaw.”

Firepaw’s eyes snapped open to see Tigerclaw looming over him, his face inscrutable.

“Tigerclaw,” he replied coolly.

Tigerclaw’s expression did not change. “Is something the matter?”

“Should there be?” Firepaw challenged, rising to his feet.

“Perhaps your…injuries,” Tigerclaw said delicately, “from the rockfall are troubling you. It was bold of Bluestar bring you.”

“I could say the same,” Firepaw remarked. “I remember you were bleeding quite badly after the battle.”

“Scratches, nothing more,” Tigerclaw said dismissively. “But you took quite a beating. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a leader who lost a life.”

Firepaw couldn’t prevent the tip of his tail from twitching with nerves. “Would you?”

“If I didn’t know better,” Tigerclaw repeated, searching his face for something.

A yowl from the Great Rock silenced any response from Firepaw beyond a reflexive hiss. Tigerclaw turned and shouldered his way closer to the Great Rock.

Firepaw heard approaching pawsteps and turned to see Sandpaw settling herself down beside him. “Yeah, okay,” she muttered. “They look too young.”

Firepaw glanced at her but did not respond.

~~

Greypaw was woken from an extremely pleasant dream involving a series of fat, slow mice marching across a clearing and into his waiting claws by a sharp jab to the side.

He woke with a jolt, blinking blearily up at the pale ginger form standing above him.

“Sandpaw?” He prepared to burrow deeper into the moss and try and go back to sleep. “Can’t you wait to brag about the Gathering until tomorrow?”

“It’s important,” Sandpaw hissed. “It’s about Firepaw.”

Suddenly, Greypaw was very much awake. “Is he okay?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Sandpaw lashed her tail, barely missing Ravenpaw’s ears. Both apprentices froze as the black apprentice stirred in his nest.

“Not here,” Sandpaw hissed. “Come on.”

Greypaw heaved himself to his feet reluctantly and slipped out of the apprentice’s den behind Sandpaw. He followed her to a small alcove behind the nursery, where Dustpaw was already waiting, crouched low.

“What’s this about?” he hissed as they approached.

“Firepaw recognized some of the ShadowClan cats at the Gathering,” Sandpaw whispered.

Greypaw shrugged. “So? He knew who Spottedleaf was before he even got to camp. And he greeted Bluestar by name.” _And me,_ he added – he couldn’t help feeling a little proud of that.

“Exactly.” Sandpaw seemed to be warming up to something, so Greypaw shifted his position to settle in for the long haul. “What if he’s not from RiverClan, but ShadowClan? He told me ShadowClan was training kits as warriors and sending them in battle –”

Dustpaw bristled. “They’re doing _what_ –”

“Shh!” Sandpaw hissed. “That’s not the point –”

 _“How is that not the point?”_ Greypaw barely managed to avoid yowling. “That’s against the warrior code – you _definitely_ need to tell Whitestorm –”

Sandpaw slapped her tail over his mouth and Greypaw choked on a mouthful of fur. “Think, mouse-brain,” she hissed. _“What if Firepaw’s from ShadowClan?”_

Greypaw batted her tail away. “That’s ridiculous,” he hissed back. “Firepaw can’t be from ShadowClan.”

“Why not?” Sandpaw challenged. “Think about it. He’s not any older than you and he acts like he’s already been training for moons – he fought a fox, he survived the fight with RiverClan –”

“What about saving Oakheart, then?” Dustpaw pointed out. “Why’d he do that if he’s from ShadowClan?”

Sandpaw paused. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” she admitted. “But I will.”

“Well, while you do that, I’m going back to sleep,” Greypaw muttered, slipping out from behind the nursery. “Let me know how your conspiracy theory goes –”

“Young Greypaw.”

Greypaw froze.

Lionheart was sitting barely a tail-length away, his eyes narrowed. Whitestorm was just behind him. “Would you three care to explain yourselves?” he asked mildly.

“Um.” Greypaw blinked. “…no?”

“Try again,” Whitestorm suggested. Then he raised his voice. “Sandpaw! Dustpaw!”

Sandpaw slunk into the open from the other side of the nursery, looking equal parts sullen and indignant. Dustpaw followed, looking not unlike a startled rabbit.

“Now that all parties are present,” Lionheart began, his words short and clipped, “who wants to start?”

“It’s about Firepaw,” Sandpaw blurted out.

Greypaw cringed. “Oh, for StarClan’s sake –”

“Shut _up,”_ Sandpaw hissed. “I’m serious! What if he really is from ShadowClan?”

To Greypaw’s surprise, Lionheart and Whitestorm didn’t immediate dismiss this as complete nonsense (because seriously, it was _Firepaw_ – RiverClan maybe, but never ShadowClan –) and shared a mysterious look.

“Go back to your nests,” Lionheart said eventually. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

* * *

Firestar looked up from the rabbit he was sharing with Sandstorm as Brambleclaw padded up to him, looking solemn and tired. Nerves clawed at Firestar's stomach as his deputy opened his jaws and spoke -

“Wake up, kittypet!”

Firestar blinked as Dustpelt's voice came out from Brambleclaw's mouth. "Brambleclaw, what -?"

Brambleclaw cut him off with an impatient lash of his tail. _“Firepaw!”_ he yowled, in Dustpelt's voice.

Sharp pain stabbed into Firestar's ribs. He woke with a hiss and zeroed in on the offender immediately. “Unless badgers are attacking camp again, I _don’t want to hear it_ –”

Dustpaw’s wide-eyed face stared down at him. “What do you mean _again?”_

_...fox-dung._

“Don’t worry about it,” Firepaw muttered, heaving himself to his feet. “What is it?”

Dustpaw huffed, recovering his usual prickly manner almost immediately. “You’re training with me and Sandpaw today. Whitestorm and Redtail are waiting.”

Firepaw’s ears twitched as he gave himself a hasty groom. “Not Tigerclaw?”

“Not today,” Dustpaw told him. “Hurry up!”

Firepaw hurried after Dustpaw, blinking in the early morning light. Redtail and Whitestorm were indeed waiting for them – Whitestorm especially looked uncharacteristically solemn. Firepaw glanced at Dustpaw for any hint as to what was going on ( _something_ was off, but Firepaw couldn’t tell what), but Dustpaw’s face was expressionless. Even Sandpaw – sitting next to Whitestorm – had plastered a completely neutral expression on her face.

Firepaw was starting to wonder if this was a new nightmare he’d have to add to the roster.

“You’ll be training with us today,” Redtail told him. “Come.”

 _What in StarClan’s name?_ Firepaw tried to catch Sandpaw’s eye as they left camp, but she was avoiding his gaze.

The fur on the back of his neck started to prickle. Dustpaw and Sandpaw – _Dustpelt and Sandstorm –_ he trusted implicitly, and Whitestorm – Whitestorm had been his deputy, if only for a short while. Redtail, though, Firepaw didn’t know – but he had been Dustpelt’s mentor, and Dustpelt had turned out all right –

So, what was all this about?

Firepaw sat down in the middle of the path and curled his tail over his paws.

Dustpaw stopped immediately. “Firepaw –”

“Tell me what’s going on,” Firepaw said flatly. “You’re all acting like I’m going to turn into –” _Don’t say Tigerstar,_ “– Brokenstar at the drop of a hat. Even Sandpaw isn’t mouthing off.”

Ahead of him, the others had stopped as well. Redtail and Whitestorm exchanged a _look_ and Sandpaw – were her hackles rising?

“Firepaw, come,” Whitestorm ordered, flicking his tail impatiently.

Firepaw narrowed his eyes and dug his claws into the ground in response.

Whitestorm’s ears flattened in response, but before he could speak Redtail stepped forward smoothly. “We have questions for you, young one,” he explained, flicking his tail. “Walk with us, and I will explain.”

Firepaw looked to Dustpaw, who nodded. Taking a deep breath, Firepaw sheathed his claws and stood up. “If this is a trap,” he meowed, “I’m going to haunt your dreams.”

Dustpaw’s hackles rose, but he made no response.

Firepaw fell into step beside Redtail. Sandpaw stuck by Whitestorm, but Dustpaw was hovering at Firepaw’s flank closely enough to make the latter’s pelt itch. “What kind of questions?” he meowed.

“I heard you recognized some of the ShadowClan cats at the gathering,” Redtail started. “How is that?”

 _Mouse-dung._ Firepaw shrugged awkwardly. “I... heard some of them talking when I would sneak along their border when I lived in Twolegplace,” he muttered.

“Mouse dung you did,” Sandpaw snapped. “You said Brokenstar was training _kits –”_

“You saw them,” Firepaw retorted, swinging towards her. Frustration was building his chest – _Sandstorm_ would know, Sandstorm was wise and brilliant – but Sandpaw had, largely, been an antagonist to him.

He saw a bit of Hollyleaf in her, sometimes. But right now, she was just...so _young._ They all were. It made his heart hurt.

He took a deep breath. “Did they look six moons old to you?”

Redtail murmured something to Whitestorm, then turned back to Firepaw. “I wouldn’t expect such outrage from one who lived outside the clans.”

“I wasn’t always a kittypet,” Firepaw muttered. Would he _never_ be free of that stupid, stupid stigma –

“I didn’t say you were.” Redtail’s gaze was steady and Firepaw resisted the urge to shrivel beneath it. “But the question remains. What were you before you were a kittypet?”

Firepaw broke his gaze to stare at his paws. “I...” He scrambled to figure out how to filter his previous life – nine lives – into something that the cats of ThunderClan would accept. “I was part of a group of cats that lived in at the edge of the Twolegplace – near Tallpines,” he improvised, when he noticed Redtail’s ears twitch. “There weren’t very many of us, so when our leader died, I had to take over. It worked out for a while, but then...” He trailed off, at a loss for how to explain the return of Tigerstar and the onslaught of the Dark Forest without being exiled on the spot. “Then it didn’t. I think we got too close to ShadowClan’s border,” he added on impulse. “I stuck around for a bit, mostly because I had to, but staying... stopped being an option after a while.” His ears twitched towards where Sandpaw and Dustpaw were whispering, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Redtail nodded thoughtfully. There was something behind his eyes that Firepaw couldn’t read – not for the first time he cursed Tigerclaw for killing the ThunderClan deputy before Firepaw had ever met him, leaving Firepaw completely in the dark as to the kind of cat Redtail was. (And also for the much more grievous sin of _committing murder_ – it just so happened that this particular murder was proving a serious inconvenience.)

“I see,” he meowed. “Then I suppose it’s time for battle training.”

Firepaw could barely concentrate on battle training. He moved automatically, mechanically, barely taking his eyes off Redtail, trying to figure out what parts of his story – if anything – Redtail had believed.

A yowl jerked him out of his thoughts – Firepaw wheeled to see Dustpaw leaping towards him and reacted. He hurled himself upwards, slamming the top of his head into Dustpaw’s exposed stomach.

The larger apprentice tumbled out of the air with a wheeze, slamming into the ground with a _thud._

“Firepaw!”

Firepaw shrank back as Whitestorm approached, feeling like he was six moons old again (oh, the irony). “I –”

“Where did you learn that?”

Firepaw’s brain stuttered to a halt. “W-what?”

“Where,” Whitestorm repeated, “did you learn how to fight?”

Firepaw opened his mouth, then closed it again. “The – the cats I was with before –”

“You’re lying to me, Firepaw.”

“I’m not!” Firepaw yelped. “The clan – they taught me how to hunt and fight.”

Whitestorm’s eyes narrowed. “The clan?”

 _Fox dung._ Firepaw scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t fall apart if Whitestorm sneezed at it – something with at least a grain of truth –

“BloodClan,” he blurted out.

_... **fox dung.**_

Well, there was no going back now. “We called ourselves BloodClan,” Firepaw repeated, trying to remember what Barley had told him all those moons ago. “We lived in and around the Twolegplace, but we weren’t...weren’t really a clan. We just answered to Scourge and followed his rules. A few of us banded together for safety and tried to run into the forest, but...” He hunched his shoulders. “It didn’t really work.”

Whitestorm stared at him.

“Go back to camp,” he meowed eventually. “That’s enough for you for today.”

* * *

“Greypaw!”

Greypaw looked up with a mouthful of thrush to see Firepaw bounding towards him, looking so distressed that Greypaw immediately felt bad without knowing why.

He swallowed the bite of fresh-kill and stood up. “What’s wrong?”

“I...” Firepaw faltered, then took a deep breath and visibly braced himself. “I need to talk to you. Alone,” he added.

Greypaw hesitated. Apprentices weren’t supposed to leave camp without a warrior, at least, not without permission, but...

He looked around for Lionheart and found his mentor grooming himself near the warrior’s den. “Wait here,” he hissed to Firepaw. He trotted over to Lionheart and meowed, “Firepaw and I are going to go hunting together.”

Lionheart looked up. He looked mildly surprised but nodded. “Make sure you’re back before sundown,” he instructed. “And keep an eye on your friend.”

Greypaw dipped his head. “I will, Lionheart,” he promised.

“Good.” Lionheart’s gaze warmed. “Good luck to you both.”

Greypaw waved his tail in thanks and bounded back over to Firepaw, who was waiting anxiously, shifting his weight from paw to paw.

“I told Lionheart we were going hunting,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Greypaw took the lead, but once they were out of camp, he noticed that Firepaw start to change. His stride lengthened, his head went up and he moved with a new confidence that only came out when they were out from under the eyes of the warriors.

The fur on the back of Greypaw’s neck started to prickle, but he ignored it. Firepaw was his _friend._

Greypaw started to slow down near the sandy hollow, but Firepaw surged ahead. “Not here."

Bewildered, Greypaw followed Firepaw towards Fourtrees. Firepaw bounded across the stream that ran towards the border like he had RiverClan blood ( _told you so,_ said Sandpaw’s smug voice, unbidden), but Greypaw was left struggling through the current with curses and loud splashes.

Firepaw sighed as he hauled Greypaw onto the opposite bank by the scruff of his neck. “I should have known that taking you across the _river_ was a bad idea.” The words were tinged with amusement and melancholy and something else Greypaw couldn’t identify but sounded... almost like nostalgia.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Greypaw demanded, opting to start a play-fight rather than dwell on the many mysteries of Firepaw.

Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “Never mind. Come on.”

By the time they reached Fourtrees, Greypaw’s legs ached. “Did we have to run all the way _here?”_ he wheezed, panting loudly as he flopped down at the base of one of the mighty oaks.

Firepaw looked guilty. “I guess not,” he meowed. “It’s just... it’s been a while.”

 _That_ was a weird comment, but Firepaw’s weird comments probably weren’t why they were here. Greypaw rolled over so he was facing Firepaw straight on and rested his chin on his paws. “Okay, we’re alone. What do you need to talk about?” He figured it was Firepaw worrying about Sandpaw’s animosity or Tigerclaw being Tigerclaw, or the fight with Longtail, or the battle with RiverClan and _whatever_ had happened then –

“StarClansentmebackfromthefuture,” Firepaw blurted out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for...also, Tigerclaw may be one of the smartest cats in ThunderClan, and he was right there when Firepaw lost a life. The rest of the patrol may have been out of direct line of sight, but Tigerclaw wasn't.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, check out my tumblr @smug-albatross where I make shitposts and post writing sometimes.


	4. Chapter 4

Greypaw blinked.

Then he blinked again, because the first time didn’t make Firepaw’s words make any more sense. “I think I misheard you,” he meowed. “Say that again?”

Firepaw’s whole body flinched. “I’d rather not,” he muttered, staring at his paws.

“No, seriously, I didn’t hear you,” Greypaw protested. “It’s all the running. What did you say?”

Firepaw took a deep breath. “StarClan sent me back from the future,” he said, enunciating clearly.

Greypaw’s ears fell back against his head. “Oh,” he muttered. “I guess I didn’t mishear you.”

“Guess you didn’t.” Firepaw’s voice had fallen flat and unhappy. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

He sounded so small and heartbroken, Greypaw wanted to lie on top of him and feed him mice until he felt better. “I didn’t say that,” he meowed quickly, feeling unreasonably guilty. “And – it’s not like I’m doubting the will of StarClan or anything,” (he was _absolutely_ doubting the will of StarClan, if they really sent this endearing ginger weirdo back from the future,) “but, uh, how do you... know?”

Firepaw tilted his head curiously. “How do I know I’m from the future?” he repeated, sounding somewhere between confused and amused. “Well, I assume because I lived it.”

“...right.” Well, this was a theory even _Sandpaw_ hadn’t seen coming. “So. Um. What happens in the future?”

Firepaw stretched and lay down in the grassy clearing. “Well,” he meowed, “I suppose the most important part is Tigerstar – Tigerclaw, now,” he added, seeing Greypaw’s look of confusion.

Greypaw brightened. “So, he becomes ThunderClan leader after Bluestar?” That was good – Tigerclaw was a _great_ warrior, he’d lead ThunderClan to do great things. Then he frowned. “Wait, what happened to Redtail?”

“Two things,” Firepaw told him. “First, no, Tigerclaw doesn’t become leader of ThunderClan – he becomes leader of _ShadowClan.”_

Greypaw faltered. “He – what?”

“Second, he killed Redtail.”

“He _what?”_

“His son is a good cat though,” Firepaw mused, staring somewhere over Greypaw’s shoulder. “Well, one of them. The other less so.”

“He has _kits?!”_

“Yeah, four – two of them in RiverClan, one in ShadowClan, one in ThunderClan –”

“What does RiverClan have to do with –”

“Honestly, I don’t remember how that happened, it was so long ago – anyway, his RiverClan daughter ended up the medicine cat, which I heard no end of concern about from Leafpool –”

_“Who?”_

“My daughter, ThunderClan medicine cat.” Greypaw barely had time to register the pride on Firepaw’s face before the ginger tom was speaking again. “Anyway, his ThunderClan son – he ended up being one of my best warriors, but his RiverClan son did kill me –”

_“WHAT?!”_

“It was only temporary!” Firepaw said defensively. “I was the clan leader, I had nine lives!”

Greypaw sputtered. “I – well, you should have led with that!”

“I did!” Firepaw yelped. “I told you Tigerclaw’s son was one of _my_ warriors!”

“You didn’t give me time to process!” Speaking of processing – “And what do you mean, you were _clan leader?”_

This went on for some time.

Eventually, Firepaw managed to convey the important bits to Greypaw – the fact that Tigerclaw was irreversibly, irredeemably evil, that BloodClan was (arguably) worse, and that seriously, Tigerstar managed to rally _every evil cat in history_ just to kill Firestar, because he was exactly that amount of evil.

“I need food,” Greypaw announced. “My head hurts.”

Firepaw snorted as he got to his feet. “You know you once ate yourself sick? We were still apprentices, actually.”

“Impossible,” Greypaw declared. “There’s no such thing as too much – _oh, mousedung, we were supposed to hunt!”_

“Owl Tree,” Firepaw said immediately. “There’s mice everywhere.”

“Unless _we_ get eaten _by the owl_ –”

Firepaw purred with amusement. “We won’t get eaten by the owl,” he meowed, nudging Greypaw’s shoulder. “You didn’t used to be this jumpy.”

“I didn’t _used_ to have a best friend from the future preaching doom and gloom either,” Greypaw complained. “I also used to be a hundred moons old, to hear you tell it. I’m allowed to be a little jumpy.”

* * *

“You were out late,” Mousefur meowed as they padded into camp with a mouthful of hastily-caught fresh-kill. 

“Lots of prey to catch,” Greypaw offered, depositing three mice and a squirrel onto the pile. “Firepaw caught a rabbit.”

Willowpelt, Mousefur’s partner on the night watch, purred. “Impressive.”

Firepaw felt his ears heating up as he deposited said rabbit onto the fresh-kill pile. “Greypaw helped,” he said. “It was about to run off before Greypaw scared it right into my claws.”

Mousefur snorted. “Throw it on the pile, then.” She flicked her tail towards the apprentice den. “And try not to wake up the whole camp in the process. We heard you coming all the way from Snakerocks.”

“It wasn’t _that_ long,” Willowpelt murmured.

“Felt like it,” Mousefur muttered back.

“We didn’t even _come_ from Snakerocks,” Greypaw whined to Firepaw, padding over to the fresh-kill pile and dropping his catches on top.

Firepaw purred. “You _do_ need to practice your stalking,” he pointed out. “If I didn’t know it was you, I would have sworn I was being stalked by a one-legged badger all the way back to camp.”

Greypaw yelped indignantly and swiped playfully at Firepaw as they headed towards the apprentice’s den.

Firepaw was a few tail-lengths away when he realized that Greypaw was no longer beside him. He turned to see his friend staring at him with wide yellow eyes that shone in the moonlight.

“Why did you tell me?” Greypaw asked quietly. “Of all cats? Why not Bluestar, or Redtail, or Spottedleaf?”

Firepaw stiffened at the mention of Bluestar as images of the fragile, broken shadow she’d been in her last moons flashed through his mind – _moons of vacant eyes and angry rants and a deep, deep ache where Bluestar’s wisdom used to be, then a yawning void when she was ripped away for good_ – but he refocused before Greypaw could say anything about it.

“You’re my best friend,” he meowed softly. “You always have been.”

Silence stretched between them as Greypaw’s eyes grew huge. Firepaw took a cautious step forward. “Greypaw –”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Greypaw said hurriedly, which wasn't even _close_ to what Firepaw was worried about. “Just... _always?”_

Firepaw swallowed a purr and dipped his head. “Always.”

* * *

Days passed without incident. Firepaw and Greypaw remained joined at the flank, with Lionheart and Redtail taking on most of Firepaw’s training. (Tigerclaw had apparently dropped Firepaw in disgust after the first hunting lesson. Firepaw wasn’t complaining.)

Firepaw caught glimpses of Sandpaw’s pale ginger fur at the oddest of moments – during training, in camp, even behind the elder’s den when he was getting rid of Dappletail’s ticks – but whenever he tried to approach her, she sauntered off with a disdainful hiss.

After four days, Firepaw flopped down next to Greypaw with a huff. His fur was a dusty mess from battle training – Redtail and Whitestorm had apparently decided that it was a good idea to run him ragged today, trying to figure out what he knew (a lot) and what he didn’t (very little). He’d felt Sandpaw’s eyes on him the entire time, but whenever he’d looked over at her she’d been focusing on something else.

“You look terrible,” Greypaw said, by way of greeting.

“Thanks.” Firepaw gave his fur a few perfunctory licks. “I need your help.”

Greypaw blinked. “My help?”

“Your help,” Firepaw confirmed. “I need...” he trailed off. “I need to tell Sandpaw,” he said quietly.

Greypaw tilted his head. “Tell Sandpaw what?”

Firepaw looked at him flatly. “The best place to find marigold – what do you think?”

“Oh.” Greypaw’s eyes got huge. “Oh – _that? Sandpaw?”_ He glanced towards the other side of camp, where Sandpaw was chomping ill-temperedly on a sparrow. “Are... you sure?”

Firepaw purred quietly. “She comes around eventually,” he said, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. “Did I tell you she becomes the best hunter in the clan?”

“Twice," Greypaw muttered. "How exactly did you managed to get her to stop hating you, again?”

The wave of fondness that rushed through Firepaw would have been enough to knock him to the ground if he were standing. “Some days I wonder that myself.” Then he shook his head. “We’re getting off track – I knew her well in the future –” _That doesn’t sound right,_ “– but we were never friends as apprentices. Right now, you know her better than I do.”

Greypaw shrugged. “If you say so. So, you want me to help you tell her about the,” he batted at the air, “stuff?”

Firepaw nodded. “Exactly.”

“Have you considered teaching badgers to fly?”

Firepaw swatted him. “I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” Greypaw yelped. “She thinks you’re some kind of ShadowClan _spy_ –”

Before Firepaw could process how absurdly wrong that was, he was interrupted by Dustpaw’s loud _“What?!”_ followed by him bolting out of the camp at top speed, leaving (of all things) a cloud of dust in his wake.

Greypaw stared. “What was _that_ about?”

“I have an idea,” Firepaw muttered. “Come on.”

* * *

Firepaw followed Dustpaw towards Sunningrocks with Greypaw on his heels, his mind churning. Anything that could get Dustpaw this riled up _had_ to be related to Redtail. Frantically, he tried to remember if he’d seen Tigerclaw in the camp before they’d left.

With a sinking feeling, he realized he hadn’t.

Ahead of him, Dustpaw skidded to a halt so abruptly that Firepaw had to swerve to the side to avoid slamming into him. Greypaw wasn’t so lucky – he collided with Dustpaw at full speed, sending them both tumbling off the small rise and into the swallow stream below.

“Watch where you’re going, mouse-brain!” Dustpaw spat.

On the other side of the clearing, Tigerclaw and Redtail stared at the two apprentices. With a flash of horror, Firepaw realized that Tigerclaw’s claws were unsheathed – and that Redtail had been turned away from the massive tabby warrior.

_“You_ watch where you’re going!” Greypaw hissed back. “What were you doing, freezing up like a startled rabbit?" 

“Enough!” Firepaw yowled, just as Redtail opened his jaws to reprimand the two squabbling apprentices. “You’re both squirrel-brained –”

“And _none_ of you are supposed to be out of camp without a warrior’s permission,” Redtail cut in, sounding beyond exasperated. “What are you doing here, Dustpaw?”

“Causing trouble, it looks like,” Tigerclaw rumbled.

Redtail flicked his tail reproachfully. “Well?”

Dustpaw glanced at Tigerclaw. “I – uh –”

Firepaw sighed, bounding easily down the bank to stand besides his friends. “Bluestar was looking for you both,” he lied, shooting a thinly-disguised glare at Tigerclaw. “She didn’t say why.”

Redtail paused. “I see.” He nodded to Tigerclaw. “We’ll have to continue this another time. For now, duty calls.”

Tigerclaw dipped his head. “Of course, Redtail,” he meowed. “Whenever is _convenient,”_ he added tartly.

Redtail sighed. “Tigerclaw...”

Firepaw blinked. _Why did they sound like...?_

Dustpaw cleared his throat loudly. “Um –”

Redtail reached up to lick Tigerclaw’s cheek before padding over to the three apprentices. “Best be off, then.”

Firepaw stared.

In his ear, the voice of Pinestar whispered, _“What?”_

* * *

“Did you know Redtail and Tigerclaw were mates?” Firepaw hissed at Greypaw, cornering him in camp the _second_ they returned.

Greypaw stared at him. “You didn’t? They only broke it off a moon ago – Tigerclaw was trying to convince Redtail to step down from being deputy – I thought you were from future?”

“I never _met_ Redtail!” It took all of Firepaw’s willpower to keep from yowling aloud in frustration. _Are you telling me I have to deal with_ another _love triangle?_ “Wait – did you say Tigerclaw was trying to convince Redtail to step down as deputy?”

“Ye – Dustpaw!”

Firepaw whipped around to see Dustpaw bounding towards them. “How did you know?” he hissed.

“How did I know what?” Firepaw asked warily, taking a cautious pace backward.

“Don’t play coy,” Dustpaw snapped, matching Firepaw’s step backward with a step forward. “How did you know that Tigerclaw –” his voice caught. He glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “– that Tigerclaw was going to try and _kill_ Redtail?”

Greypaw’s ears flattened. “How do _you_ know?” he asked.

Dustpaw shot him an exasperated look. “I have _eyes –”_

_“Okay,”_ Firepaw cut in, glancing around. The sun was starting to go down – the camp was winding down for the night. He though for a moment, then spoke. “Meet me...at the base of the Great Sycamore at moonhigh. I’ll explain everything.”

Dustpaw looked like he was about to argue, but Redtail’s irate yowl sounded across the clearing at that exact moment. _“Firepaw! Dustpaw!”_

“I think he found out you lied,” Greypaw predicted.

“At least he’s alive to find out,” Firepaw muttered. He was still reeling from the revelation that Tigerclaw and Redtail had – even formerly – been _mates._ It made Tigerclaw’s power-hungry murder of the ThunderClan deputy even _more_ despicable – something Firepaw hadn’t thought was possible.

The image of Sandstorm bleeding out beneath his claws flashed into his mind, unbidden, and he shuddered.

~~

Firepaw and Dustpaw were consigned to taking care of the elder’s den every day until the next Gathering by a _very_ displeased Redtail and treated to Tigerclaw’s most menacing glare.

Dustpaw flinched.

Firepaw didn’t bother. He slipped out of camp just after sundown, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the dirtplace. That _was_ one benefit of being leader – you didn’t need to sneak around. You could just. Do things.

(The other benefit was no snoring denmates.)

The Great Sycamore was even taller than Firepaw remembered. He relaxed as he neared the moonlit silhouette, bounding forward and leaping up the trunk, digging his claws in and scrambling onto one of the lower branches. Then he sprawled across the thick branch and rested his chin on his paws. It was time to wait for Dustpaw.

At some point, Firepaw must have drifted off, because he found himself waking up to a hiss of “Firepaw!”

Firepaw jerked upwards, peering over the branch to see Dustpaw standing at the base of the tree, peering into the undergrowth.

The slightly rustling undergrowth.

Firepaw bunched his muscles and tracked the movement. Whoever it was, was moving around Dustpaw so silently that Dustpaw didn’t appear to notice. He clearly knew that _something_ was up, though, and had backed up against the Great Sycamore.

The rustling in the undergrowth paused, and Firepaw swooped down upon it like an owl. He landed on something small – and furry – and yowling –

_“Ravenpaw?”_

Frozen beneath Firepaw’s claws was, in fact, Ravenpaw, staring up at Firepaw with wide green eyes.

Firepaw stepped back and shook out his fur, watching Ravenpaw stagger to his feet. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, exasperation overriding friendship for the moment.

“F-following you,” Ravenpaw stammered. “I – I saw –” He took a gulping breath. “I saw – what Tigerclaw was going to do – I want – I want to help.”

Firepaw sat back. “You followed him?” He was impressed – he wouldn’t have expected that of the Ravenpaw who’d lived in ThunderClan.

Ravenpaw shuffled his paws. “You said to keep an eye on Redtail,” he mumbled.

Dustpaw bristled. “How did you –”

Firepaw cut him off with a wave of his tail. “It’s okay Dustpaw.” He sighed. He supposed he would have probably told Ravenpaw _eventually,_ but he’d been hoping it wouldn’t be this soon. “Up the tree, both of you. I’ll explain everything.”

Dustpaw and Ravenpaw followed silently. Dustpaw winced as he hauled himself onto the branch.

Abruptly, Firepaw remembered the injury he’d taken in the Sunningrock’s battle. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Dustpaw said shortly.

Firepaw let it go and sat down, curling his tail around his paws. “To start,” he meowed, “Ravenpaw, you were right. I did die when Sunningrocks fell. More specifically, I lost a life.”

* * *

Dustpaw and Ravenpaw listened in wide-eyed silence as Firepaw whispered the story of Tigerstar to Dustpaw and Ravenpaw. He told them of Tigerclaw’s murder of Redtail, his exile, his leadership of ShadowClan, and how he’d stalked the clans even beyond death, uniting the Dark Forest against the clans they thought had wronged him.

He left out most of the details – including Ravenpaw’s flight from ThunderClan – and the sleepless night, the exhaustion, the gnawing anxiety that he was going to end up driving ThunderClan into the ground. He was a leader still – he had the nine lives of one, after all – and it didn’t matter that Dustpaw and Ravenpaw were two of his oldest friends. They were still apprentices, and Firepaw wasn’t going to burden them with the details that made his paws tremble.

“Any questions?” he asked.

Dustpaw spoke first. “You – you’re _sure –?”_

Firepaw dipped his head. “Unfortunately.”

“We have to stop him.” Dustpaw sprang to his feet. “We can’t _let him –”_

Firepaw cut across him. “We’re not going to,” he promised. “But right now, he hasn’t _done anything_ – and ThunderClan has other problems.”

Dustpaw blinked. “We do?”

“Brokenstar.” Firepaw was unable to keep the snarl out of his voice. “He’s been training kits as warriors ever since he was made leader, and he has designed on the territories of all the other clans –”

_WindClan._ They been driven out – he scrambled to remember _when_ and came up with a scrap of memory from his first Gathering, where Brokenstar had announced that he had driven out WindClan. His first Gathering had been – two moons after he’d joined ThunderClan? Three? It was two, he was almost certain it was two.

“Firepaw?” Ravenpaw’s eyes and the twitching white tip of his tail were the only parts of him visible in the shadows of the Great Sycamore. “Are – are you –?”

“I’m fine,” Firepaw said automatically. “It was all just...so long ago.”

“Well it isn’t _now,”_ Dustpaw meowed. “What do you remember?”

“Clawface kills Spottedleaf,” Firepaw spat, the old anger surging up in his bones.

Ravenpaw meowed in distress. “But she doesn’t have an apprentice – how does ThunderClan –?”

Firepaw had...actually forgotten about that part. Yellowfang had been a part of ThunderClan for so long he’d almost forgotten she hadn’t been born there. “Brokenstar – if he hasn’t exiled his medicine cat yet, he’ll do it soon, in the next couple of moons. She took refuge with ThunderClan and took up Spottedleaf’s duties after she died.”

Dustpaw looked at him like he’d gone crazy. “A _ShadowClan_ medicine cat?” he hissed. “Are you mad?”

_“That’s_ what you question?” Firepaw asked dryly. “Out of everything I’ve told you?”

Dustpaw sputtered. “I – well – what are we going to do about Brokenstar then?”

Firepaw sighed. “Honestly? I’m not sure. He’s dangerous – he was one of the Dark Forest’s leaders alongside Tigerstar, and when he was alive he stole kits from ThunderClan and plotted with Tigerclaw. Even demotion and exile didn’t stop him then, and I doubt death will stop him either.”

“But you said it yourself, exile won’t be enough,” Dustpaw pointed out. “And if he steals _kits –”_

“I know,” Firepaw said. “I know. I don’t have all the answers. But everything started after Redtail died.”

Dustpaw nodded. “I won’t let him out of my sight.”

“So, we have...two moons?” Ravenpaw asked timidly. “Until Brokenstar attacks the camp?”

Firepaw nodded. “He drives WindClan out some time before – after the next Gathering, I think, but I don’t know how long after.”

“He – you know what, never mind.” Dustpaw shook his head. “How do we keep Redtail alive?”

Firepaw’s tail twitched. “Keep Tigerclaw from killing him,” he said dryly. “Tigerclaw can’t become deputy if Redtail stays alive, after all.”

_“That’s_ what this is about?”

“Of course that’s what it’s about, what did you think –”

Dustpaw looked vaguely embarrassed. “I just – I figured Tigerclaw was jealous or something –”

Firepaw took a deep breath. “If you’re telling me that ‘jealous mate’ is a more believable Tigerclaw than ‘power-hungry tyrant’ –”

“Kind of,” Ravenpaw mumbled.

That was it. Firepaw was going to fling himself off of the Great Rock. “I should have stayed dead,” he muttered.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Pinestar reminded him, ever so helpfully.

Firepaw resisted the urge to scream.

“We should tell Bluestar,” Ravenpaw meowed timidly. “If – if Brokenstar is really going to attack the camp.”

Firepaw’s fur stood on end. _“No,”_ he said emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

Ravenpaw flinched.

“Why not?” Dustpaw demanded. “She’s our leader!”

_And a fine job she did,_ Firepaw thought, old bitterness welling up once again. “She doesn’t...” he trailed off, at a loss for how to explain. “Brokenstar, she can deal with, but Tigerclaw... his betrayal... broke her, somehow.” He shook his head. “She just stopped. Turned her back on the whole clan – on StarClan, even.”

Sharp intakes of breath told him that his friends understood. “So, what do we do, then?” Ravenpaw asked.

Firepaw grimaced. “We wait,” he admitted. “We play the long game, just like Tigerclaw. I doubt Bluestar will believe our word over Tigerclaw’s, especially since Redtail didn’t see anything, but – if you can find a way to tell Bluestar that you’re worried about Tigerclaw and Redtail without letting her know about any of _this –”_ he waved his tail expansively, “that could help. I’ll back you up if you need it,” he added. “As a neutral third party of sorts.”

“I – I think I can do that,” Ravenpaw meowed.

Dustpaw looked uncertain, but he nodded.

“Okay,” Firepaw said. “Then the other problem is Brokenstar. Bluestar wouldn’t attack ShadowClan unprovoked, even if we made up some kind of dream – besides, that would just lead to more death.”

“And give Tigerclaw an opportunity to kill Redtail,” Dustpaw muttered.

Firepaw inclined his head. “That too. I want to get word to WindClan, to warn them, but I’m not sure how,” he admitted. “I’m too new to the clan to crossing borders on a whim.”

“Like that stopped you before,” Pinestar muttered.

Dustpaw narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “What if you told Whitestorm or Redtail that you remembered something you overheard while you were – well, I guess you weren’t really with, uh, BloodClan?” He frowned. “Are they even real, or did you make that up?”

Firepaw winced. “They’re real, unfortunately.”

“That’s...concerning,” Ravenpaw meowed hesitantly.

“BloodClan is concerning,” Firepaw told him. “But they’ve stayed in the Twolegplace this long, I doubt they’ll come to the forest this time unless someone brings them here.”

“Who brought them last time?” Dustpaw asked curiously.

“Tigerstar, of course,” Firepaw said resignedly. “What were you saying, Dustpaw?”

Dustpaw coughed. “Right, well, what if you told Whitestorm or Redtail that you remembered something you heard when you were with BloodClan about a threat against WindClan?”

Firepaw nodded thoughtfully. “It would certainly get her attention, but Bluestar wouldn’t send any aid to WindClan. If anything, she’d focus on strengthening ThunderClan in preparation.”

“So?” Dustpaw complained. “What’s so important about WindClan?”

Firepaw glared at him. “The clans _need_ each other,” he hissed. “There’s darkness and danger on the horizon that you can’t even imagine, and without each other the clans will fracture and fall.” He straightened his spine, still staring Dustpaw down. “There are threats we cannot face on our own. StarClan brought the clans together for a reason, and I will not see them sundered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firepaw is just. So annoyed that he could have just said "Tigerclaw was jealous" and it would have been more effective than all the shenanigans he pulled as a warrior.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, check out my tumblr @smug-albatross where I make shitposts and post writing sometimes.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re absolutely useless,” Firestar snapped, pacing in front of an increasingly irritated Pinestar. “You didn’t know about Redtail and Tigerclaw, you can only give advice that an apprentice could figure out –”

“Even though you _didn’t,_ the first time around,” Pinestar pointed out tartly.

“– _and,”_ Firestar added, glaring at Pinestar, “most egregiously, you dragged me back here after I finally, _finally –”_

His voice broke and he looked away, staring into the darkness of the trees at the edge of Pinestar’s clearing.

When Pinestar spoke, his voice was cool. “Tigerstar’s death may have ended the threat of the Dark Forest, but the trust that holds the clans together was shattered. I lived eight of my lives in service to ThunderClan, and I will not see it fall to infighting and mistrust – not while I have the power to save it.”

 _“You_ don’t have the power,” Firestar snapped, wheeling back around to face Pinestar. “You spent eight lives in ThunderClan? I spent _nine_ – and you dragged me back here to – what, fix your mistakes? Act as your vanguard? Your puppet?”

Pinestar’s expression hardened. “My _puppet?”_ he snapped. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Firestar –”

“You’re doing a fine job of that without my help,” Firestar hissed.

The dream faded. Pinestar’s furious face lingered behind Firestar’s closed eyes.

* * *

The morning brought suspicious looks from Tigerclaw, undisguised irritation from Redtail, and bemusement from Lionheart as Firepaw’s mentorship was one again shuffled over to the golden tabby warrior.

“How did it go?” Greypaw hissed on their way to the training hollow.

Firepaw _mrrowed_ uncertainly. “Dustpaw and Ravenpaw believe me,” he murmured back. “We have...sort of a plan. I’ll tell you after training,” he promised.

“Um.” Greypaw blinked. “Okay? Is everything –”

“It’s fine,” Firepaw said automatically.

Everything was going to be _fine._

There was a chill to his fur that he hadn’t been able to shake since he’d woken up, and the ever-growing knot of anxiety and – increasingly – anger in his stomach was ballooning so rapidly that Firepaw couldn’t be sure he could make it through the day without collapsing or exploding or bursting into tears –

But everything was _fine._

“Firepaw?”

Firepaw jumped, realizing that they’d come to a halt and that Lionheart had been speaking for – how long? Long enough to ask a question, apparently.

“Um,” he managed, “what?”

The rest of the lesson went much the same. All of Firepaw’s focus had evaporated in the morning sunlight, leaving him twitchy and off-kilter. He only managed not to completely fumble Lionheart’s hunting lesson because he’d done it so many times before.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Lionheart asked, after Firepaw let the second squirrel escape in the space of half an hour.

“I’m fine.” Firepaw just managed to avoid snapping at the senior warrior.

He missed Greystripe – the one he’d left behind at the lake, not the apprentice from his first days in ThunderClan – and his gentle, reassuring presence. He missed _Sandstorm,_ so badly it hurt – but she wasn’t here.

Not really.

* * *

Firepaw had managed to finish feeding the elders without having to speak to Dustpaw and was about to forego the fresh-kill pile in favor of ending the day early and hoping tomorrow would be better when Greypaw bodily dragged him out of camp by the scruff of his neck.

Firepaw twisted out of his grip with a hiss. “What in StarClan’s name –”

“You’ve been jumpier than a mouse in a fox den all day,” Greypaw told him, padding in the direction of Fourtrees. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s –”

“If you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to sit on you,” Greypaw warned. “You’ve been saying it all day and it hasn’t gotten any truer.” He hummed. “Actually, I think it’s gotten _less_ true.”

Firepaw sighed, increasingly his stride to walk beside the other apprentice. “I – Greypaw, look –”

Greypaw butted his head against Firepaw’s shoulder. “I know I’m not the same Greypaw – or, Greystripe, I guess – that you knew from the future.” He wrinkled his nose. “That’s such a weird sentence. But it’s like you said – I’m always your best friend. So, you can tell me anything.”

Firepaw looked down at his paws – oversized and kit-like, with tufts of fur sticking out at untamable angles. “I shouldn’t have to confide in an apprentice,” he muttered. “I’m _ninety_ _moons_ older than you. I’ve been leading ThunderClan for – I can’t even figure out how many seasons.”

“Yeah, and you just had the ground pulled out from underneath your feet,” Greypaw pointed out. “You’ve trusted me this far, right?”

Firepaw took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed himself against Greypaw, burying his face in his friend’s broad shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Then he paused. “I think.”

“No, you should be,” Greypaw agreed. “I think. Actually, it doesn’t matter. What’s wrong? Is it Tigerclaw? I bet it’s weird seeing him again, after everything he’s done – or will do, I guess...”

Firepaw huffed. That was as good a place to start as any. “A little,” he confessed. “He’s just... been the villain we scare our kits with for so long, and now he’s a respected member of the clan again.”

“That _is_ weird,” Greypaw mused. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, honestly. Everyone looks up to him, the idea of him _killing_ anyone in ThunderClan is just so... weird.”

Firepaw tensed. “You said you believed me,” he said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“I do,” Greypaw assured him. “You’re a very believable cat. It’s just weird.” He leaned back against Firepaw. “That’s not the only thing that’s bugging you though, right? I mean, that’s been a thing ever since you showed up.”

Firepaw was silent for a long moment, wondering if he ought to tell Greypaw about –

_You’ve trusted me this far, right?_

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I, um. Did I ever tell you about Pinestar?”

“Pinestar?” Greypaw repeated. “He left the clan to be a kittypet when he was on his last life.”

“Of course he did,” Firepaw muttered. Curiosity, piqued, he asked, “What else do you know about him?”

The cold chill increased. Firepaw ignored it.

“Um, well, he’s Tigerclaw’s father – left the clan when Tigerclaw was just a kit, according to the elders –”

“He –” Firepaw’s breath caught in his throat. “He’s _what?”_

Greypaw faltered. “You... you didn’t know that either, did you.”

“I’m – no, I didn’t.” Firepaw’s ears pinned against his head. “I’m going to kill him – bringing me back to fix his own son’s mistakes –”

“Pinestar brought you back?”

“Of course he did,” Firepaw bit out.

Something akin to understanding dawned in Greypaw’s face. “Firepaw...have you been running on anger this whole time?”

* * *

Greypaw dragged Firepaw back to camp less bodily than he’d dragged him away. Firepaw trailed along behind him, carrying a scrawny pair of mice that had just about tripped over his paws. He dropped them on the fresh-kill pile and allowed Greypaw to herd him towards the medicine den with only minimal protesting.

Spottedleaf looked up as they entered. “Did one of you step on a thorn while you were out hunting?” she asked, amusement in her voice.

“Nope,” Greypaw said cheerfully. “Just making sure this one doesn’t sneak off without coming to see you.”

Firepaw huffed. “Greypaw –”

“You absolutely would, don’t bothering denying it.” Greypaw waved his tail as he headed back into camp. “Don’t forget to use your words!”

Firepaw sighed. “You are a terrible friend.”

“No, I’m not!”

Spottedleaf purred in amusement and sat down, curling her tail around her paws neatly. “So, what brings you here?” She tilted her head. “Are your injuries from Sunningrocks bothering you?”

Firepaw shook his head. “No – no, nothing like that.” He struggled for a moment to find the right words. “I, er...well, I told Greypaw I was having some trouble adjusting, and he suggested that I talk to you.”

Spottedleaf blinked. “Did he? Well, I suppose medicine cats often fill the role of advisors as well.” She gestured to the herb stores. “Why don’t you help me sort out the herbs that have gone bad, and we can talk?”

Firepaw nodded.

Spottedleaf waved him over, showing him what to do and how to sort out the good herbs from the stale herbs from the bad herbs. Firepaw let himself fall into the rhythm of sorting as he and Spottedleaf talked. He told her what he could – about strange dreams and a cat named Pinestar, about the crawling sense of foreboding whenever he looked at Tigerclaw, about the way the world seemed to warp around Redtail like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

Spottedleaf listened, offering the occasional comment or piece of advice. She grew quieter as quieter as Firepaw spoke, never taking her eyes off of him.

“How long have you been dreaming of Pinestar?” she asked, carefully plucking a juniper branch clean of berries.

Firepaw paused in his sorting of the marigold, considering. “I think...” he started slowly, “I think they started the first night I spent in the clan.” He glanced up at Spottedleaf. “Is it true that he was Tigerclaw’s father?”

Spottedleaf nodded. “Did he tell you?”

“Greypaw mentioned it.” Firepaw growled in frustration. “Why do I always end up fixing other cats’ mistakes –”

“How do you mean?” Spottedleaf asked.

 _Mouse-dung._ “When I was with BloodClan,” he started, “we had a – a leader, for our small group. She was brilliant, at first, but... her mind started to go, and she made some bad choices. And I was the one who had to run damage control.” He swept a few rotted petals aside. “Then we had to leave our homes, and when we thought we’d finally found somewhere to live all the old problems started up again.”

He sighed. “I know that fixing the problems of others is what a leader is supposed to do,” he began. “And I will never regret being their leader. But I thought – I thought that was all over, and now I’m here. In ThunderClan, with...all these cats –” _All these cats I know, all these cats I watched die_ , “– and with these dreams, it feels like I’m supposed to lead again. But I mean – well, look at me.” He purred in amusement. “I’m barely an apprentice. How am I supposed to lead anyone with kitten fluff sticking out of my ears?”

“You don’t have to,” Spottedleaf assured him, touching his flank with her tail. “You’re a part of ThunderClan now. We take care of our own.” She tilted her head. “Incidentally, have you considered speaking to Bluestar about these dreams of Pinestar?”

“No!” Firepaw blurted. “No, she can’t know.”

Spottedleaf sighed. “Firepaw, she’s our leader. If something’s threatening the clan –”

“I need you to trust me,” Firepaw said softly, looking into Spottedleaf’s eyes. “I know I’m new to the clan. I know you don’t know me – but please, trust me when I say that these dreams aren’t something Bluestar should know.”

Slowly, Spottedleaf nodded. “I’ll keep your secret, Firepaw,” she meowed. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You tell me about _any_ other dreams you have.” Spottedleaf tilted her head up. “Any at all.”

* * *

 

A quarter moon passed.

An uneasy truce seemed to have settled between Firepaw and the warriors of ThunderClan. Tigerclaw was still pretending he didn’t exist and Redtail was just short of cordial, but their duties (and a timely intervention from Dustpaw) kept them from traipsing off into the woods together. Lionheart, with some help from Whitestorm, was responsible for most of Firepaw’s training, but no mentor was assigned (as Firepaw recalled, it had taken two moons before he’d been given a mentor – he didn’t see why that should change now).

There had been no word from Pinestar, just an omnipresent chill that Firepaw could never shake and endless dreams of an empty glade with a dried-up pool.

“Perhaps he thought you were being selfish,” Spottedleaf suggested. Today’s chores had seen Firepaw helping her gather yarrow.

 _“I’m_ selfish?” Firepaw said incredulously. “He’s the one who abandoned ThunderClan when they needed him.” _Not to mention his son._ He couldn’t fathom leaving one of your children behind. Yes, Squirrelflight had driven him half out of his mind when she was a kit and had only gotten worse as an apprentice – and then there was the whole debacle with Leafpool and her kits (with _Crowfeather_ of all cats). Even Cloudtail, who was the closest thing he had to a son, had been absolutely insufferable as an apprentice. But he had never even considered just... leaving them.

They were family.

Spottedleaf hummed. “You know, I once heard it said – it was by Whitestorm, I believe – that cats are often least tolerant of flaws in others that they themselves have.”

It took Firepaw a moment to untangle that, but he nodded. “Maybe that’s it,” he murmured. “So, you think he’s... what, extra sensitive to other cats being selfish?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Spottedleaf admitted. “You mentioned that he wants you to – how did you put it – fix his mistakes. Perhaps he regards leaving as one of those mistakes.”

“He should,” Firepaw muttered.

A warm breeze wafted across the clearing, lifting some of the chill from Firepaw’s shoulders.

* * *

That night, Firestar woke up at the outskirts of Pinestar’s clearing. There was water in the pool again and the skies were clear, but there was no Pinestar in sight. Instead, there was a plump, soft-furred kittypet, a ginger tom with green eyes exactly three shades lighter than Squirrelflight’s.

Firestar’s hackles prickled, but there was something about this cat... “Who are you?”

The tom’s face lit up. “Rusty!” he yowled, bounding forward.

Firestar took a step back and the tom skidded to a halt. “That’s not your name,” he said. “And while we’re at it, it’s not mine either, so would you like to try that again?”

It was comical, really, how quickly the tom’s face fell. “You don’t... remember me?” He took a step back. “I guess you wouldn’t,” he murmured. Then he looked up, locking eyes with Firestar. “My name is Jake,” he said quietly. “I’m your father.”

Firestar stared. His...father?

“I don’t have a father,” he said, then cringed as he realized how stupid that sounded. Of _course_ he had a father - cats didn't spring out of the ground like weeds. It was just that they’d never met.

Jake bowed his head. “I died not long after you were born,” he admitted. “Wandered too close to the Thunderpath.” He offered a small smile. “I knew Pine – Pinestar, I guess, to you. We were kittypets together. He introduced me and your mother, actually.” His head tilted. “Do you... remember her at all?”

“Only a little.” Firestar circled around the edge of the clearing until he was standing not far from the pool. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Jake said, “but Pine isn’t very good at showing emotions. Especially when admitting he’s made a mistake – I think you’ve noticed, but he has a habit of running away from his problems.”

“I noticed,” Firestar muttered.

“He’s not a bad cat,” Jake said earnestly. “He’s made some mistakes, but he has his clan’s best interests at heart.” Jake’s eyes softened. “He’s a lot like Tallstar in that regard.”

“Tallstar never abandoned his clan,” Firestar snapped.

“He did, actually,” Jake said. “That’s how we met. But he went back to his clan, just like Pine’s trying to do now. Except, you know, he’s dead. So he can’t really _go back.”_

“And now he’s living vicariously through me, I suppose.” Firestar sighed, not bothering to question the fact that his father had known Tallstar. “Look, I’m grateful for the opportunity to change things, to make them better. But I’m – I’m _exhausted.”_ His voice broke on the last word.

His life had been dictated by prophecy after prophecy, and as the cracks in this new life began to form, the momentum that had carried him forward into this new life was crumbling beneath his paws and revealing only a dark, yawning chasm beneath. He knew too much and not enough and –

“Hey.”

Firestar jumped as Jake laid his tail across Firestar’s flank.

“It’s okay,” Jake said quietly. “I know this is all a lot to deal with. Especially since your first instinct is to keep secrets,” he added. “Now, I don’t know what Pinestar has planned, or what happened the first time around, but try to relax. At least until the next Gathering. There’s not much to be done until then, as I understand it.”

“I should find Yellowfang, at least,” Firestar argued weakly.

“She’s not even exiled yet,” Jake meowed.

Firestar was on a roll. “And what about Tigerclaw? I can’t just sit back and _hope_ he doesn’t murder anyone –”

“Dustpaw’s looking out for him, remember?” Jake told him. “You have to put your faith in someone.”

“Dustpaw’s an _apprentice.”_

“A highly motivated apprentice,” Jake pointed out. “I’m not saying don’t do anything, but if you don’t take a moment to sit down, breathe, and work out all the knots you’ve tied yourself into, you’re not going to do anyone any good.”

“I –”

“You have to listen to me, I’m your dad.”

Firestar glanced at him. “So?”

Jake _mrrowed_ in amusement. “You sound like Tallstar,” he said wistfully.

 _Tallstar._ Firestar’s ears twitched. “Can you speak to him?” he asked. “I mean – like you can speak to me?” He wheeled around to face Jake head on. “Can you warn him about Brokenstar’s attack?”

Jake looked uncertain. “I... can try, I suppose,” he said weakly. “I’ve never tried to actually pass on message before. I think his medicine cat is the only one who actually knows if I’m around, and I don’t think he knows who I am.” He frowned. “Actually, I don’t think he can even see me. More like...sense my presence.”

“I’ve heard Pinestar speaking,” Firestar argued. “Surely there are other cats –”

“None that had been brought back from the future,” Jake pointed out. “At least, that’s how Pine explained it to me.”

That was a fair point. “Could you warn –” Firestar floundered for the name of WindClan’s current medicine cat. “Bark – Barkface? Is that his name?”

Jake shrugged helplessly. “Sounds familiar.”

“Could you tell him?” Firestar suggested.

Jake shrugged again. “Maybe, Firestar. I don’t know. I’m not big on dreams.”

“What’s this, then?” Firestar pointed out, gesturing to the clearing.

“An exception,” Jake said dryly. “As I mentioned before, you came back from the future. _And,”_ he added softly, “you’re my son. Even if we never met while I was alive.”

Firestar huffed, not sure how to respond to that. “Try,” he pleaded. “WindClan doesn’t deserve this.”

Jake nodded. “I will.” He paused. “Can I ask you something?”

Firestar blinked. “Of course.”

“What happened last time?” Jake asked, his eyes wide with anxiety. “When ShadowClan attacked?”

Firestar ducked his head. “They were driven out of their own camp,” he said softly. “The survivors took shelter in a Thunderpath tunnel.”

“Did Tallstar make it?” Jake whispered.

Firestar bowed his head. “Through that and more.”

Jake sighed in relief. “Well, that’s something.”

Something clicked in Firestar’s head. “You love him, don’t you?”

Jake looked up, startled. Then he relaxed, a look of goopy fondness washing over his face that Firestar had only ever seen on Greystripe’s face when he was waxing poetic about Silverstream. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I do.”

“Does he love you?”

Jake hesitated. “I – I think so.” _I hope so_ lingered in the air between them, unspoken.

Firestar dipped his head. “I wish you’d had more time together,” he said simply.

Jake looked at his paws. “So do I,” he agreed. Then he looked back up at Firestar. “Don’t worry too much about Sandstorm, by the way,” he said. “You’ll get there eventually. Just give it time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what else I haven't read? _Tallstar's Revenge_ \- which is an egregious oversight that I hope to correct very soon. And I was going to have him find Yellowfang (because Yellowfang is awesome) but any time I tried to write Firestar into a course of action, he threw himself off a metaphorical cliff. So I figured he should have a little therapy first. Also I've been traveling this week (and probably next week too) so the next couple updates might be a bit shorter than usual. Sorry guys!
> 
> If you liked this chapter, check out my tumblr @smug-albatross where I make shitposts and post writing sometimes.


	6. Chapter 6

Firepaw slept in, thanks to Lionheart being on moonhigh patrol the previous night, and moved through the hunting lesson (how to stalk a bird) with only a couple of comments.

“Abandoned twoleg nests, maybe?” Greypaw said, in answer to Lionheart’s question as to where sparrows could be found outside of ThunderClan territory.

“Those are better for mice,” Firepaw corrected. “And you have to look out for owl nests, too – at night they’re usually out hunting, so you should be okay unless they have chicks.”

Lionheart nodded. “Very good Firepaw. How did you know that?”

Firepaw shrugged self-consciously. “There was an abandoned nest near my old home,” he offered. “I went hunting there a lot.”

“I see,” Lionheart meowed. “And where did you go to find birds?”

“Um...” Firepaw scrambled for a moment. “The smaller trees,” he offered. “The branches are too small to climb, but you can catch them coming back to their nests.” Birds had never been Firepaw’s specialty – he’d always preferred mice.

Lionheart hummed. “That _is_ one way to find them, but a more reliable method is to find seed-dropping trees. Those are the birds’ source of food.”

Firepaw cursed inwardly, the information surfacing in his mind as soon as Lionheart spoke. “Right. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies,” Lionheart said smoothly. “You’re an apprentice. You’re still learning.”

 _But I’m not._ Firepaw glanced at Greypaw, who was wearing his best encouragement face. _That’s the thing._

He remembered Jake’s words from the night before. _Try to relax._ Jake had wanted him to, essentially, cut himself some slack – something Firepaw wasn’t very good at.

He should be doing _something._

“So, what’s up?” Greypaw asked as the pair tucked themselves in a secluded corner to share a plump sparrow. “Is it Pinestar again? Because if it is, I’ll climb into your dreams myself and sit on him.”

“It’s not Pinestar,” Firepaw assured him, touched. “And you couldn’t sit on him if you tried.”

“Bet I could,” Greypaw argued. “I’m very good at sitting. On cats!” he added. Then he frowned. “That didn’t help.”

Firepaw was too busy laughing to answer properly. “You really couldn’t,” he managed. “Pinestar’s _huge._ Bigger than Tigerclaw.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s true! What, you don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust your _dreams,_ that’s not the same thing –”

“What dreams?”

Firepaw and Greypaw looked up to see Sandpaw standing crankily staring down at them.

Greypaw glanced nervously between Firepaw and Sandpaw. “I, uh – well –”

“It’s nothing,” Firepaw blurted out. “Sorry for interrupting your meal, Sandpaw.”

The silence stretched between the three of them, with Sandpaw and Firepaw staring each other down and Greypaw’s eyes flicking rapidly between the two.

Finally, Sandpaw huffed and turned around and stalked away.

 _“What_ are you doing?” Greypaw hissed. “You said you wanted to tell her!”

Firepaw groaned, burying his face in the ground. “I _know,”_ he muttered. “I just... I don’t even know how to _start.”_

“Same way you told me,” Greypaw offered. “StarClan sent me –”

 _“Keep your voice down,”_ Firepaw hissed. His gaze darted frantically over to Sandpaw, who was now staring at him from some distance away – but not enough distance that Firepaw couldn’t be sure she hadn’t overheard Greypaw.

Wonderful.

“Kill me,” Firepaw muttered, burying his face in Greypaw’s thick, fluffy pelt.

“Um, no?” Greypaw nosed at Firepaw’s ears. “Hey, are you doing okay?”

Firepaw sighed, shifting himself so he was leaning against Greypaw but could still keep an eye on Sandpaw – who had moved further away and was now whispering to an increasingly alarmed Dustpaw, who kept shooting Firepaw looks that roughly translated to _what in StarClan’s name?_

“I’m...mostly fine,” he said. “I want to tell her, I do, but... it’s _Sandstorm.”_

“Well...” Greypaw shrugged. “It’s not _really,_ it’s Sand _paw._ And I’m assuming Sandstorm was her warrior name?”

“It was,” Firepaw murmured, thinking back to her warrior ceremony. He glanced at his friend. “Yours was Greystripe.”

Greypaw nodded. “That makes sense.” He shifted his gaze from Firepaw to Dustpaw. “What about the others?”

“Dustpelt,” Firepaw offered. “For how much of a mess he made of the training hollow, I assume.”

At the mention of the training hollow, an idea sparked in Firepaw’s mind – why he hadn’t thought of it before, he didn’t know. “Hey, Greypaw?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“What would you say if I offered to train you?” 

* * *

“You want to _what?”_

“It’s a good idea!” Greypaw said defensively, staring down an incredulous Dustpaw. “Firepaw has like, ninety moons of experience more than we do –”

“He’s –” Dustpaw made a strangled noise and started pacing. Again. “Has he even _trained_ an apprentice before?”

Apparently, Dustpaw was having difficulty reconciling the notion of Firestar the experienced warrior with the appearance of Firepaw the fluffy apprentice. Firepaw didn’t blame him.

“Of course he has,” Greypaw scoffed. “You have to, to get made deputy – I bet he’s trained loads. Right, Firepaw?”

“A few,” Firepaw said, glossing over the fact that he _hadn’t_ trained an apprentice before Bluestar had made him deputy.

“How many?” Dustpaw demanded.

Firepaw considered. “Four. Well, five, if you count Brackenfur.”

Dustpaw’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t Brackenfur count?”

“Technically, he wasn’t my apprentice,” Firepaw admitted. “But his mentor wasn’t around for most of his training, so I picked up the slack.”

Dustpaw blinked. “Oh. Well, um. Okay then.” He tilted his head curiously. “Who, uh. Who were the others?”

“Nobody you’d recognize,” Firepaw said dryly. “Cinderpelt was my first apprentice – she was Brackenfur’s littermate – then there was Cloudtail, and then Brambleclaw...” Firepaw trailed off.

“Firepaw?” Greypaw prompted. “Are you okay?”

Firepaw shook his head to clear it of thoughts of a younger, kinder pair cat with amber eyes and tabby fur than the one he shared a camp with now. “I’m fine,” he assured Greypaw. “I just realized... he’d be Bramblestar now. He was my deputy when...”

Ravenpaw spoke up for the first time. “You must have been really proud of him,” he said. “What – what was he like?”

Firepaw’s chest swelled at the thought of his third apprentice. “He was the best cat I ever trained,” he said. “Brave and caring in equal measure – one of the best fighters in the clan, and a natural leader. He saved my life,” he recalled. “He was utterly devoted to ThunderClan, and to his kin.”

The warmth and pride in Firepaw’s voice shone through, and the three other apprentices exchanged glances.

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Ravenpaw offered weakly. “I’ll do it.”

“Me too,” Greypaw said immediately - as if there was ever any doubt.

“One more thing,” Dustpaw said. “I’m in!” he said hastily, as Ravenpaw turned to face him in obvious disbelief, “but you said there were five apprentices? Who was the fifth?”

Firepaw felt his eyes misting over. “Cherrytail,” he murmured. “She made a fine warrior, but she wasn’t of ThunderClan.” He cut off Dustpaw’s question with a motion of his tail. “It’s a story for another time, but she was far happier where she was.” _At least,_ Firepaw thought, _I’d like to think so._ His thoughts had turned to SkyClan often, especially during the journey to the lake and the onslaught of the Dark Forest – how were they coping, was Leafstar a good leader, could they catch enough prey – had the rats come back? Firepaw doubted they had, but he had never been sure and some nights it had kept him from sleeping.

He had never quite been able to shake the feeling that he had abandoned them.

“You’re all in?” he checked, shaking off the melancholy that had settled over him like a shroud.

Greypaw, Dustpaw, and Ravenpaw all nodded.

Firepaw stood. “Then meet me at the training hollow halfway past moonrise,” he said. “We’ll begin tonight. For now – Dustpaw, I need to speak with you.”

“C’mon, Ravenpaw, let’s see if we can get Lionheart to show us that bird stalking technique again,” Greypaw suggested, shepherding the jumpy black apprentice towards the senior warriors.

Firepaw watched them leave. Ravenpaw wasn’t as jumpy as he remembered. Maybe it was because Redtail was still alive, or maybe it was a dozen other things – whatever it was, Firepaw was glad for it.

He turned back to Dustpaw. “You looked alarmed when Sandpaw confronted you, earlier. What happened?”

Dustpaw’s shoulders hunched.

“I’m not mad,” Firepaw assured him, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Of course not,” Dustpaw snapped. “I’m not _Ravenpaw.”_ But there was a thread of tension that ran deeper and when Firepaw didn’t answer – simply stared at him – he sighed. “Sandpaw said that Greypaw had said something about StarClan sending you and that she was sure it was some kind of ShadowClan trick to destroy ThunderClan.”

Firepaw blinked. “That is... a truly impressive leap of logic, I must admit.”

“Yeah, she can be like that,” Dustpaw muttered. “Especially with outsiders.” He looked at Firepaw apologetically. “I mean, I know you’re not –”

“I was,” Firepaw told him. “I wasn’t born in ThunderClan last time either.”

Dustpaw stared. “You weren’t? But – I mean, where were you born? Is she right? Are you from ShadowClan?”

Firepaw purred in amusement. “Nothing like that.” He sobered. “I don’t... enjoy talking about it,” he admitted. “It was a mark of shame for a long time.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Dustpaw promised. “Not even Greypaw.”

Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Greypaw is very persuasive.”

“To you, maybe,” Dustpaw muttered. “So?”

Firepaw sighed, dropping his gaze from Dustpaw’s. “I was born a kittypet,” he said quietly. “My parents were both kittypets – although I don’t remember either of them. I have siblings, and they’re all kittypets.” He shrugged, still looking at the ground. “There’s not a drop of warrior blood in my veins.”

Dustpaw was silent for a long moment. “I don’t think,” he said slowly, “that you’d be here if that were true. You’ve got warrior blood somewhere in your family, I’m sure of it.”

 _And if I don’t?_ Firepaw thought.

To the cats of the ThunderClan he’d left behind, it wouldn’t matter. Daisy, Millie, Purdy, and their kin, had proven that.

But the ThunderClan of today still had a long way to go. 

* * *

Just as Firepaw had instructed, the three apprentices filed into the training hollow at halfway between moonrise and moonhigh.

Firepaw was already there, standing tall and proud in a beam of moonlight and looking so much like a cat out of legend that Greypaw couldn’t do anything but stand and stare.

“We’ll start with the basics,” Firepaw announced. “Am I right in assuming you’ve all been taught the basic moves?”

Greypaw nodded. Dustpaw and Ravenpaw followed suit.

“Good.” Firepaw’s tail lashed across the ground. “Then show me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Dustpaw lunged forward, swiping at Firepaw’s head – but the blow never landed. It passed harmlessly over Firepaw’s ears as Firepaw hooked his paw around Dustpaw’s front leg and sent him tumbling to the ground with a yelp.

Firepaw pinned Dustpaw down with a paw at his throat.

Dustpaw froze, then nodded slowly as Firepaw stared down at him. Firepaw nodded in return and stepped back as Dustpaw scrambled back up.

“Can anyone tell me what Dustpaw did wrong?” Firepaw asked, turning to Greypaw and Ravenpaw.

Greypaw exchanged a glance with Ravenpaw, who shrugged. As far as he could tell, Dustpaw’s form had been just fine. Clearly, though, he was wrong – if Firepaw had been able to upset him so quickly, he had to have been doing something wrong.

Firepaw glanced back at Dustpaw. “When you’re fighting, keeping your balance is imperative,” he said. “Dustpaw, when you swipe, you lean too far forward – you put too much weight on your shoulders, and it makes you easy to tip over.” He looked back to Greypaw and Dustpaw. “Does that make sense?”

They nodded.

“Good.” Firepaw turned around to face Dustpaw. “Why don’t you try again?”

Dustpaw faced Firepaw and attacked again. Immediately, Greypaw could see the difference – there was no lurch to the swipe, but it looked like there was less weight behind it.

Firepaw darted out of the way, the same as he had before, and went for Dustpaw’s foreleg.

This time, Dustpaw stayed on his feet. He purred in delight as Firepaw congratulated him and turned back to face the others. “What differences did you notice?”

“Um...” Ravenpaw spoke up tentatively. “He was putting more weight on his back paws?”

Firepaw nodded. “That’s basically it – instead of leaning _all_ your power into a strike, you need to conserve some of it in order to maintain balance. Battles aren’t one with a single blow.”

He paced in front of them. “A good warrior thinks about the next strike,” he said. “A _great_ warrior thinks about the next five.”

For the rest of the lesson, Firepaw had them practicing basic moves over and over again, fighting not each other but open air until they could land a solid blow without Firepaw slinking up behind him and flipping them on their tail.

“You’re doing well,” he praised as the moon crept past its peak. “Ravenpaw, your greatest strength is your speed; you have good balance and it’ll serve you well. Greypaw, you’ve got a lot of raw power in your strikes – that’ll finish your battles quickly, but you need to be careful not to overbalance. Dustpaw, you’re somewhere in the middle, so you have greater flexibility with your fighting style; the ability to adapt to the situation is going to be your biggest asset.” He straightened up. “That’s enough for tonight. Your mentors are going to want us awake as early as ever.” 

* * *

After three nights in a row of Firepaw’s training, they were awoken at sunup by a way-too-cheerful Lionheart.

Much to Greypaw’s consternation, Firepaw was bright-eyed and alert. The rest of them were significantly less so.

Dustpaw was the worst – he was yawning near-constantly as he trailed out of camp after Redtail. Ravenpaw was alert through the power of anxiety as Tigerclaw snapped and snarled at Firepaw (why Bluestar though _that_ combination was a good idea, Greypaw didn’t know).

Greypaw himself could barely keep his eyes open as Lionheart explained what they’d be doing today.

So, they’d have to make some adjustments. 

* * *

It took about a quarter moon to figure out a schedule that worked for everyone. The whole den (minus Sandpaw, who was growing increasingly suspicious – Greypaw was _dreading_ the day when Firepaw finally broke down and told her the truth) met twice every quarter moon, and Firepaw would meet individually with each of them once every quarter moon to work on whatever they needed to work on.

“You’ll be sneaking out almost every quarter moon,” Greypaw protested. “Aren’t you going to be exhausted?”

Firepaw just shrugged. “Not especially. As long as we stop at moonhigh like we’ve been doing, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ravenpaw meowed. “I mean – if the warriors think you can’t keep up with training –”

Firepaw purred. “I’ve been here for almost a moon. If they were going to kick me out, they’d have done it by now.”

The conversation lulled as Sandpaw wandered by. Privately, Greypaw made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Firepaw and sit on him if he wasn’t sleeping enough.

“So, what happens at the Gathering?” Dustpaw asked as she headed towards the fresh-kill pile, leaning forward.

Firepaw shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. I didn’t attend and nothing that anyone told me about it stuck.”

Dustpaw’s face fell.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Ravenpaw offered weakly. “If you don’t remember anything, that means nothing important probably happened, right?”

Firepaw inclined his head. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he agreed. “But we still have training to do before then.” 

* * *

The next group session was two days before the Gathering. Firepaw slunk out of the camp with ease – force of long habit had him glancing up to check the edge of the quarry before he remembered that this camp wasn’t _in_ a quarry.

Still, as he made his way through the forest towards the training hollow, his fur began to prickle. He tasted the air, but the wind was blowing the wrong way to catch the scent of any pursuers.

A twig snapped behind him. He turned, scanning the undergrowth – and sighed as a rabbit hopped into view.

Maybe he was getting paranoid in his old age.

He arrived in the training hollow late, taking a winding route in an attempt to shake any pursuers – but he couldn’t catch sight of anyone. He tasted the air and swallowed back a curse, the other apprentices were close enough that their scents would lead anyone following them to the training follow without Firepaw’s help. He prowled the edge of the clearing, trying to puzzle out the myriad of scents, but something...

Firepaw looked up into the trees and saw a flash of pale fur. Hissing angrily, he threw himself up into the branches, grimacing as he snagged his claw on the tree’s soft bark.

A yowl heralded the full weight of a cat slamming into Firepaw, knocking them both to the ground. Firepaw crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, wheezing as the breath was forced from his lungs. He gasped for air as he struggled to his paws – a familiar scent hit the back of his throat –

_“Sandpaw?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the moment many of you have been waiting for - Sandpaw.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, check out my tumblr @smug-albatross where I make shitposts and post writing sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

Firepaw’s green eyes were wide as Sandpaw loomed over him. She bared her teeth – for a spy, he was cowardly if all it took was jumping out of a _tree_ to frighten him.

“Who were you expecting?” she hissed. “You think I don’t notice when my denmates disappear every night?”

“It’s not –” Firepaw blinked. “Are you calling me your denmate?”

Sandpaw sneered. “Only by technicality.” He didn’t even really _count,_ he hadn’t even been in ThunderClan for a full moon and already everything was changing for the worse – he’d upset Tigerclaw and Redtail, saved a _RiverClan_ warrior, Brokenstar was training kits as warriors (and she was _sure_ he hadn’t said anything, never mind that she hadn’t worked up the courage to tell Whitestorm either), and now all her denmates were falling under his spell. If he wasn’t from ShadowClan, sent to destroy them, he was from the Dark Forest itself.

She lashed her tail and flexed her claws. “What are you doing out here?” she hissed.

“I could ask the same of you,” Firepaw meowed. Sandpaw blinked as the ginger tom seemed to...relax? Why was he relaxing? She tasted the air, but the only smells she could detect was stale vole and the scents of her denmates. “You’re as much an apprentice as we are, shouldn’t you be back in camp?” He tipped his head to the side – _why was he this relaxed, he shouldn’t be this relaxed –_ and his ears rotated slowly. “Or telling a warrior?”

“I don’t need help to deal with a _kittypet.”_ The tension that hung thick in the air snapped as Sandpaw threw herself forward with a yowl, claws extended. Firepaw went down with a grunt, yelping in pain as her teeth sank into the scruff of his neck.

“What are you doing out here?” she growled through the fur. When he didn’t answer, she shook him. “Answer me!”

_“Sandpaw!”_

Sandpaw looked up to see Greypaw staring at her, horrified. Her heart twinged sympathetically – Firepaw had been his friend, the betrayal must sting –

“Let him _go!”_ Greypaw yowled, flinging himself at her.

Sandpaw dropped Firepaw to the ground as Greypaw bowled her over. She twisted out of his grip and rolled to her feet, facing him with a hiss. “What are you _doing?”_ she spat. “He’s a ShadowClan _spy!”_

“You have no _idea_ what he is,” Greypaw hissed back.

_“Enough!”_

Greypaw froze as Firepaw leaped between them, pelt bristling. He cast a glare in Greypaw’s direction – the big apprentice deflated immediately, stepping back and sheathing his claws. Sandpaw had just enough presence of mind to sheath her own – she didn’t _really_ want to fight Greypaw, and Firepaw hadn’t even resisted when she’d attacked him – as she boggled at him. Why was he so _deferential_ to this cat?

Sandpaw’s tail lashed. “What in _StarClan’s name_ is going on?”

Firepaw winced.

He _winced._

Was he _scared_ of her? Of course, he should be scared of her, but why was he scared of her and not a cat like Tigerclaw? Or Whitestorm? Why _her?_

In a flash, Sandpaw remembered the way Firepaw tiptoed around Redtail – her _father_ – and her hackles rose again.

“What are you even _doing_ here?” she demanded. “You don’t _belong_ – you’re a kittypet, or a ShadowClanner, or a rogue – everything but a ThunderClan warrior.” Sandpaw spat contemptuously into the dirt, and Firepaw looked away.

“Sandst – Sandpaw, I –”

Sandpaw’s ears pinned against her skull. “What were you about to call me?” she demanded, taking a pace forward.

“Sandpaw, _stop!”_ Greypaw dove in front of Firepaw and standing nose-to-nose with her, his fur puffed out and his ears pinned back. “Just stop!”

“Not until someone _explains!”_ Sandpaw yowled. “You’ve all been sneaking around behind my back and I’m sick of it! _Tell me what’s going on!”_

“Okay,” Firepaw blurted out.

Greypaw stared at Firepaw. “But – you said –”

Firepaw grimaced. “I’m aware. But I was wrong. She needs to know.”

“Know _what?”_ Sandpaw demanded.

She was summarily ignored by both of them as they had a long staring contest and had to resist the urge to claw off their ears.

“Follow me,” Firepaw meowed, gesturing towards the Training Hollow with his tail. “I’ll explain on the way.”

* * *

Explaining things to Sandpaw was difficult enough without having to dodge around the exact nature of her and Firepaw’s relationship. More than once, Firepaw caught himself beginning a tangent that would lead to his ears being clawed off and abruptly changed topics.

(Sandpaw _definitely_ noticed but he always managed to distract her with some wild information about the future and his ears remained intact.)

“You expect me to believe this?” Sandpaw demanded, once Firepaw was finished. She turned to Greypaw. “You can’t _seriously_ believe –”

“I do,” Greypaw said stubbornly. “He’s telling the truth – Ravenpaw and Dustpaw believe him too –”

“Oh _do_ they –”

“Yeah, they do!” Greypaw bristled. “StarClan, why can’t you just _see_ –”

Firepaw sighed. Had they fought this much as apprentices? Surely not. “Greypaw.”

Greypaw’s jaws clamped shut with a click of teeth. Sandpaw swung around to face him, incredulity written all over her face.

(It was so _odd_ to see the hints of the cat she’d become, written into a flick of her ears or a turn of the head, but buried beneath layers of biting hate and kitten fluff – constant reminders that this was not _his_ Sandstorm, but a stranger. One who hated him.)

“Let’s say,” he meowed, holding Sandpaw’s gaze, “for the sake of the argument, that you believe me. What do you want to know?”

“Why _you?”_ Sandpaw demanded. “You’re – you’re not even _part_ of ThunderClan, why would StarClan send _you_ back?”

Firepaw sighed, all the frustrations of the past moon bubbling up under his pelt. “I don’t _know,”_ he managed. “Maybe it’s because Tigerstar considered me his greatest enemy. Maybe it’s because they thought I had the best chance. Maybe they just wanted to spite me,” he added, unable to keep the sardonic purr out of his voice.

Judging by the way Sandpaw’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t see the humor.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. What else do you want to know?”

“What are you doing sneaking out in the woods?”

 _Direct as ever._ “Training.”

Sandpaw’s eyes narrowed even further if that was even possible. “Training for _what?”_

“Very ominous, Firepaw,” Greypaw chimed in.

Firepaw winced. “Sorry,” he apologized. “We’re not training for anything specific – just to be warriors.” He flicked his tail. “You might be young, but –”

“You’re six moons old.”

Firepaw had honestly forgotten that Sandstorm was two moons older than he was. “Ninety-six, actually,” he corrected her, whiskers twitching as her eyes bugged out comically. “But I’m sure your two-moon advantage is so very impressive, so do continue.”

Sandpaw shut her muzzle and glared.

“Or not.” Firepaw shrugged. “As I was saying, you might be young, but that won’t matter to ShadowClan. I don’t want any of you to get hurt,” he meowed, remembering the crushing despair he’d felt upon learning Greystripe had been lost to the Twolegs and the fear that had seized his heart when Sandstorm had nearly died at Mapleshade’s claws.

Sandpaw was silent for a long moment. Then she turned to Greypaw. “You say Dustpaw believes him?”

Greypaw nodded.

Sandpaw huffed. “Fine. I don’t believe you,” she said flatly, staring hard at Firepaw. “But I’ll go along with this.” _For now_ hovered in the air between them, unspoken.

Firepaw dipped his head. “That’s all I ask,” he said sincerely. “Just train with us. Brokenstar won’t stay out of our territory forever – besides, we have other problems.”

Sandpaw snorted at that but offered no comment. Firepaw suspected that she didn’t believe him about Tigerstar’s betrayals – he was still a respected member of ThunderClan, after all, and one of Bluestar’s most trusted warriors.

He had to be. He wouldn’t have gotten away with as much as he did otherwise.

Ravenpaw and Dustpaw were waiting in the Training Hollow with wide eyes.

“What happened?” Dustpaw demanded. “I thought I heard –”

“It’s all right,” Firepaw assured him. “Nobody minds Sandpaw joining us for tonight, right?”

Dustpaw flicked his tail. “Of course not,” he meowed, glancing at Sandpaw. Ravenpaw offered no comment, just shuffled to the side to make room.

Sandpaw stepped into line with Greypaw, her fur still bristling slightly as she glanced around at the others. Anxiety roiled in Firepaw’s stomach – he _had_ to convince her that this was something worth doing. He had to.

“Okay,” he meowed, squaring his shoulders and hastily rewriting his lesson plan for the night. “So far, we’ve been working on staying balanced in a fight and thinking a few steps ahead of your opponent. Tonight, we’re going to be testing what you’ve learned. Ravenpaw and Greypaw, I want you two to be sparring partners – Dustpaw, watch them and if you see something wrong, see if you can correct it.” He hoped that would work – Dustpaw was the best mentor of the five of them, and Firepaw hoped to nurture that talent even further now that he had the chance. “Sandpaw, you and I will work together.”

“I fight fine,” Sandpaw snapped.

“Fine enough to defeat a ShadowClan warrior?”

Sandpaw sneered, but as the other three grouped off together, she shuffled over to him. “Fine. What are we doing, then?”

Firepaw faced her, keeping light on his toes – he remembered how fast Sandstorm had been, even as an apprentice. “I need to assess your skills, first of all. Take a swipe at me.”

“With pleasure,” she muttered and lashed out with a hiss.

Much like he had with Dustpaw, Firepaw slithered under her outstretched leg and rammed his shoulder up into her chest, throwing her to the side and sending her crashing to the ground with an undignified yelp.

Sandpaw scrambled to her feet, ears pinned back. “How –”

“The same way I did it to the others,” Firepaw told her, gesturing to their denmates with his tail – Ravenpaw had just sent Greypaw staggering back, shaking his head, and Dustpaw was purring encouragement. “You overbalance on your strikes – you all do, and I’d bet a moon of dawn patrols some of the warriors do it too.” His whiskers twitched. “Longtail, for instance.”

“Is _that_ how you beat him?” Sandpaw’s tone was more curious and less hostile now, leaning forward to hang on every word. He felt a glow of pride in his chest – whatever she felt about him, she was always determined to be the best warrior ThunderClan could hope for.

And in his completely biased opinion, she was.

“More or less,” Firepaw admitted. “His strike didn’t land, and he didn’t react in time. It left his side open and,” he shrugged. “Well, you were there.”

“Would you have killed him?”

Firepaw blinked. “I – what?”

“Would you have killed him?” Sandpaw repeated. “If he hadn’t yielded, or if Bluestar hadn’t called you off.”

Firepaw stared at her. “Would I – of course not.” The fur along his spine prickled at the very thought. “He’s my _clanmate._ I could never hurt him.”

“He wasn’t _then,”_ Sandpaw pointed out.

“Yes, he _was.”_ Firepaw shook his head. “You don’t understand. I’ve lived beside him nearly my entire life. I shared a den with him, I assigned him two of his apprentices, I performed his elder’s ceremony, I was there when he died. He’s a _good_ cat – patient and kind, dedicated to his clan and loyal to his friends.”

“He tried to rip your fur off,” Sandpaw pointed out.

Firepaw shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“Patient and kind,” Sandpaw muttered. “Under what moon – where were we?”

“I was about to tell you how not to get tossed on your tail every time you fight,” Firepaw reminded her.

“Right,” Sandpaw flexed her claws. “Get on with it.”

* * *

Firepaw led the group back to camp in high spirits. Sandpaw still wasn’t wholly convinced, but she wasn’t running to Spottedleaf or Bluestar either, and she’d agreed to keep coming to the training sessions. Reluctantly, Firepaw had been forced to cut back individual sessions to once every quarter moon – he was good, but he wasn’t _that_ good.

Ravenpaw was becoming a force to be reckoned with, his speed and agility making him difficult to pin down. Greypaw was still struggling with keeping his balance, but when he managed it, he turned into an immovable boulder. Dustpaw was somewhere in the middle – steady and reliable and straightlaced as he always was, already quick to offer a helping paw to the other apprentices.

Firepaw was so, _so_ proud of them.

Perhaps it was because of his high spirits that he didn’t notice the pair of bright orange eyes that slunk in their wake or the ginger tail that circled around their left flank. He didn’t notice any of this, nor did the others, until the ThunderClan deputy was sitting in front of them.

“Well, well,” Redtail meowed. “This must be some kind of record. I don’t think we’ve ever had _all_ the apprentices sneak out of camp at once.”

“Redtail, we weren’t –” Dustpaw blurted out, casting a panicked glance at Firepaw.

Redtail silenced him with a wave of his tail. “You can explain yourselves to Bluestar,” he meowed. “And _then_ to your mentors.”

Firepaw, who did not have a mentor, kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Except for you,” Redtail added, switching his gaze to Firepaw. “I expect Bluestar will want to deal with you personally.”

“It was my idea,” Greypaw blurted out. His fluffy grey tail was twitching nervously, brushing erratically against Firepaw’s flank. “I, er, I thought we could do some extra battle training together and –”

Redtail waved his tail again and Greypaw fell silent. “Tell Bluestar,” he meowed. “She’s the one who noticed Sandpaw leaving.”

As one, three sets of eyes whipped around to glare at Sandpaw, who hissed defensively. Firepaw kept his gaze trained on Redtail. The shadows around the small tom seemed to crawl around his frame in a way that made Firepaw’s skin crawl.

In the darkness over Redtail’s shoulder, amber eyes gleamed.

Next to Firepaw, Dustpaw stiffened, and Firepaw knew he saw them too.

Redtail turned. The eyes vanished.

He tasted the air, looking unsettled, but the wind was blowing the wrong way to catch any scent but that of the apprentices gathered in front of them.

“Back to camp,” he said curtly.

Dustpaw followed immediately, casting a wide-eyed look back at Firepaw. Ravenpaw hurried after him, followed by Sandpaw. Firepaw and Greypaw brought up the rear.

“Thanks,” Firepaw murmured to Greypaw, taking care not to let his words reach Redtail’s ears.

Greypaw nodded. “How’s Sandpaw?” he whispered back.

“She’s fine.” Firepaw’s ears twitched. Were those pawsteps, or was he imagining things? It could have been leaves falling from the trees (in newleaf?) or prey scuttling about (at this hour?) –

Or it could be Tigerclaw, slinking through the trees and watching them.

How long had he been following them? How much did he know?

Greypaw sped up. Firepaw, who had slowed to look over his shoulder, scanning the undergrowth for a glint of amber or a flash of tabby fur, hadn’t realized that they’d fallen behind.

Redtail hadn’t realized either, but Sandpaw was glancing over her shoulder at him. She tilted her head quizzically as Greypaw caught up, meowing something that Firepaw didn’t catch. Their ears brushed as they carried out a whispered conversation, casting furtive glances ahead of them.

Firepaw made to chase after them, but before he could go more than two pawsteps, a heavy weight slammed into his side, knocking him off his paws and sending him skidding into the underbrush and knocking the air from his chest.

“Firepaw!” Greypaw called. _“Firepaw!_ Where are you?”

Strong paws pinned him down before he could get his breath back, but Firepaw felt his muscles lock up as a familiar, dreaded voice hissed in his ear.

“Not a sound, kittypet,” rumbled the deep, throaty baritone of Tigerclaw. “Or they’ll never even find what’s left of you.”

Firepaw stayed quiet as Redtail’s voice joined Greypaw’s. “This is no time for games, Firepaw!” the deputy called. “We must return to camp immediately.”

Tigerclaw’s claws talons pricked Firepaw’s pelt, but he held his tongue.

 _“Firepaw!”_ Greypaw yowled, desperation plain in his voice.

Dustpaw’s meows joined the chorus. “Firepaw! Where are you?”

Tigerclaw stayed silent and motionless.

“Back to camp.” Redtail’s voice snapped through the tension that was thick in the air. _“Now.”_

“What about Firepaw?” Greypaw wailed. “What if something’s happened to him?”

 _“I_ will take some warriors and look for Firepaw. _You_ need to _remain in camp…”  
_

Redtail’s voice trailed off. Pawsteps faded into the distance, then fell silent.

They were alone.

Tigerclaw fastened his teeth into Firepaw’s scruff and dragged him away from the trail. Firepaw struggled as soon as Tigerclaw’s weight lifted, but a sharp shake of Tigerclaw’s head cracked Firepaw’s skull against the trunk of a tree and he fell limp as stars danced across his vision.

When Tigerclaw stopped, Firepaw was thoroughly disoriented. He _thought_ he recognized this part of the territory, but he didn’t know how Tigerclaw could have gotten there so quickly, and the shadows of the trees looked warped and wrong in the moonlight.

Tigerclaw dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. Firepaw tried to scramble to his paws, but Tigerclaw pinned him down before he could get his feet underneath him.

“Now,” Tigerclaw rumbled. “You’re going to tell me _everything.”_

* * *

As the moon began to descend below the horizon, Tigerclaw pushed his way to ThunderClan camp carrying a small scrap of ginger fur in his jaws.

Greypaw’s wail of despair was piercing and immediate – the clan roused as one, from elders rising to aching feet to kits peering around their mothers’ legs. Alone among them was Bluestar, standing solitary vigil as she awaited the return of her beloved deputy and the wayward apprentice he was chasing.

Tigerclaw laid the battered body of that self-same apprentice at Bluestar’s feet. His pelt had been rent open by cruel claws and his fur was caked with blood. One ear had been nearly severed, and the stark white of bone could be seen through a gash in his flank.

“I found him near the Twolegplace,” Tigerclaw rumbled. “He’d been cornered by a gang of rogues. They made a sport of him – I chased them off and killed their leader, but I was too late to save him.”

Bluestar pressed her nose into the bloody ginger fur. Bitterness flashed across her face and she closed her eyes.

“He would have been a fine warrior,” she meowed. “May StarClan welcome him.”

“May StarClan welcome him,” Tigerclaw echoed.

Greypaw threw himself forward and buried his muzzle in Firepaw’s fur. Slowly, Dustpaw came up to his side and began to lick Firepaw’s pelt clean. After a moment’s hesitation, Ravenpaw slunk up next to Bluestar and began to do the same, washing Firepaw’s bloodied flank carefully.

Sandpaw came next, cleaning the blood from his head. The rest of the clan kept their distance as Bluestar lifted her head and swept her gaze across the gathered cats.

“We will sit vigil for Firepaw,” she said firmly. “He was a cat of ThunderClan, and a worthy apprentice, despite having no warrior blood of his own. Our clan is lesser for his loss.”

Sandpaw glanced up at Bluestar as she spoke, but did not break the rhythm of her grooming. Darkstripe snorted and turned back to the warrior’s den with a contemptuous sneer. Longtail gazed down at Firepaw’s body, looking torn, but eventually followed the dark warrior back into the den.

Slowly, the rest of the clan returned to their dens, with the exception of the apprentices – and Tigerclaw, who loomed over them all like a specter

The ginger apprentice’s last words, choked out in bloody gasps as Tigerclaw ripped him apart, were running through his head in a never-ending loop

 _I've seen you die nine times,_ Firepaw had said, _and I lived out my life while your ghost lurked in solitude and despair. And when you decide to break those barriers and return to this plane, I'll kill you myself_

Tigerclaw flexed his claws as he swept his gaze over Firepaw’s body.

_I've done it before, Tigerclaw._

_I can do it again._

_Nine times,_ the kittypet had said. _Nine deaths, nine lives._

The nine lives of a leader.

Tigerclaw’s heart soared. Whatever the kittypet had seen, whatever gifts Pinestar had given him (it was Pinestar, of course it was – the young tom had choked out his name as he lay dying, and who else would he call for?), the rule of ThunderClan was Tigerclaw’s by right

His head turned towards the den where Bluestar slept

And he would take it, he vowed.

As the dawn crested over the horizon, the sun’s rays shone down upon Firepaw’s body, turning his ragged pelt into shining flame. For a moment, his wounds seem to vanish in the crackling flame

Firepaw’s green eyes opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost 3 am I'm going to SLEEP please enjoy.


	8. Chapter 8

Firestar awoke to silver light and echoing hisses swirling around him.

His body  _ ached _ in ways he hadn’t even thought possible, the fur around his eyes was crusted with pain-tears – his head was killing him –

The hisses got louder, a few voices rising into yowls. Firestar whimpered involuntarily and the cats quieted again. Warm fur pressed into his side and he slumped into the gentle contact as a careful tongue lapped away the blood that had sunk into the fur on his head.

“It’s okay,” someone murmured. “You’re safe now – you’ve been so brave, Firestar, and it’s over now.”

“Jake?” Firestar rasped. He tried to raise his head and regretted it immediately. “What…?”

“You lost another life,” Jake said. “Tigerclaw, he…”

Firestar flinched at the memory. He’d never  _ been _ that helpless – not even when Hawkfrost had tricked him into the fox trap at the edge of the lake. At least then, Brambleclaw had been by his side. There had been hope amidst the pain.

Trapped in the depths of the forest, there had only been Tigerclaw’s mercy. And he was famously merciless.

“Firestar?” Jake nosed his scruff gently. “How are you feeling?”

Firestar thought of the cold grass and the freezing water drying on his pelt – Tigerclaw must have dragged him through a stream to reach his destination, but he could have  _ sworn _ they were near Tallpines – and shuddered.

Apparently, that was answer enough for Jake. “You’re healing,” he promised. “StarClan, though – some of them don’t want to send you back.”

Firestar jerked upright, ignoring his body’s protests.  _ “What?” _ he blurted out, ignoring Jake’s distressed meow. “I have to go back – I can’t  _ leave _ them, not like this – ”

“Be calm, Firestar.” A new voice cut through the rising din, cutting the arguments down to mutters and the occasional hiss. Firestar turned to see a large, bright ginger tom with a torn ear emerging from the swirl of sunlight, followed by a very irate-looking Pinestar.

Firestar glanced back at Jake. “If you’re anybody’s parent, please tell me now instead of letting me run in circles.”

The tom’s whiskers twitched. “I have no a mate, nor kits,” he promised. “Neither have ever interested me.” He dipped his head. “My name is Sunstar. I led ThunderClan before Bluestar did.”

“She was your deputy,” Firestar recalled, glancing to Pinestar. “And you were Pinestar’s?”

“He was much more agreeable back then,” Pinestar complained.

“I was shorted a life because of your selfishness,” Sunstar snapped. “If you had at  _ least _ had the dignity to throw yourself into a fox’s teeth – ”

Pinestar hissed. Sunstar snarled.

“Oh, save it!” Firestar snapped. “Thunderstar’s sake, I’d almost forgotten how petty the dead can be.” He focused his gaze on Sunstar, ignoring Pinestar’s derisive snort. “Jake tells me you don’t want me to return to ThunderClan.”

“Jake speaks too freely,” Sunstar meowed, casting a stern glance over Firestar’s shoulder. Firestar bristled, stepping sideways to block his gaze. “But he also speaks truthfully. You are not supposed to  _ be _ here, Firestar – your presence has consequences even we cannot foresee.”

“Since when have you ever foreseen anything useful?” Firestar muttered.

Someone in the crowd snorted.

Sunstar did not. “It is the duty of StarClan to watch over this forest,” he meowed, yellow eyes hard. “We cannot protect it from what we cannot  _ see.” _

“Then let me spare you the trouble,” Firestar snapped. “Tigerstar is a threat to the forest while he lives, and he’ll be a threat to StarClan after he dies. ShadowClan is rising under Brokenstar’s leadership – although I notice you never said anything about  _ that, _ even as he trains  _ kits _ to throw into battle as fodder for your ranks –”

An outraged hiss came from the starry ranks. Firestar ignored it.

“If you can’t see what’s happening, then stay out of my way and let me handle it,” Firestar continued.  _ “I’ll _ take care of the clans while you squabble amongst yourselves about prophecies.”

“And what of ShadowClan?” someone yowled. Firestar turned to see a large dark brown tabby tom pushing his way through the ranks, his ragged fur bristling. “Do you expect me to believe that you’ll watch over ShadowClan once you’ve driven out Brokenstar?”

Firestar thought of Tawnypelt, Brambleclaw’s beloved sister and a fierce warrior in her own right, and of her kits; he thought of Russetfur, brave and loyal and fierce, every inch of what a warrior should be. He thought of Yellowfang, born and raised in ShadowClan, and of Nightstar, who had tried desperately to save his clan despite all odds – and even of Blackstar, who Firestar had never liked but had grown to respect.

He met the tom’s gaze. “Yes.”

“And RiverClan?” called another cat – this one a huge, thick-furred grey tom. “My clan clashes often with yours, Firestar. What guarantee do we have that you will not seek to tip the scales in your favor?”

Firestar’s tail lashed in irritation. “I saved your deputy, did I not?” he shot back. “Oakheart would have died at Sunningrocks without my intervention.”

The grey tom flicked his tail dismissively. “Oakheart is not without his ties to ThunderClan –”

“Are you doubting his loyalty?” Firestar challenged.

The grey tom bristled, but before he could retort, a third voice cut through the air.

“Peace, Hailstar,” a sleek lilac she-cat meowed, weaving through the crowd to regard the grey tom – Hailstar – with cool blue eyes. “And you, Raggedstar,” she added, switching her gaze to the dark brown tabby, who snorted but sheathed his claws.

_ Raggedstar. _ Firestar blinked.  _ You’re Brokenstar’s father, _ he realized.  _ Yellowfang’s mate. _

“Heatherstar,” Hailstar meowed evenly. “You have something to say?”

Heatherstar inclined her head. “I do,” she meowed. “How many here are aware that Firestar attempted to send a warning to WindClan of Brokenstar’s intentions to drive them from their home?”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Raggedstar retorted.

“They’ll go on like this for a while,” Pinestar muttered to Firestar. “Might as well get some rest until they’re done bickering amongst themselves.”

Firestar snorted but remained standing.

“– doesn’t prove anything,” Raggedstar said dismissively. “It’s well-known that his kittypet father was a  _ close friend _ of Tallstar’s –”

“They were in love, Raggedstar, you might as well say it,” Hailstar meowed crossly. “The  _ point _ is that Firestar has no connection to either of our clans, so how can we believe that he will not use his knowledge of the future to drive us out of our territories?”

Firestar couldn’t stay silent. “Like you did to SkyClan?”

Silence fell over the clearing.

“When SkyClan’s ancestors called for my help, I answered,” Firestar spoke into the stillness. “I have no SkyClan blood, no SkyClan friendships. I had a cat I did not know ask me for help, and do you know what I did?”

No one answered.

“I answered.” Firestar swept his gaze over the assembled cats. “I found the camp of a clan that had been destroyed by rats and I found the cats of SkyClan blood that lived on as kittypets or rogues and I dragged SkyClan back to life – because there were  _ five _ clans in the forest, once, and I will give every last life in my bones to ensure that one day, there will be again.”

Pinestar stepped forward. “My friends...”

“Oh, here we go,” Hailstar muttered. Raggedstar swatted him with his tail. Heatherstar rolled her eyes.

Firestar sighed internally.  _ Clan politics. _

“If I may,” Pinestar meowed, his tone frosting slightly at Hailstar’s interruption, “we may have lost the ability to see the broad strokes of the world, but the little things in life remain visible to us, do they not? Lilywhisker warned Barkface of the dogs less than a moon ago, and Brambleberry even spoke to Crookedstar last night.”

Hailstar grunted.

“Our role as sentries has not changed,” Pinestar pointed out. “Only now our prophecies come from a more reliable source than we have ever had before.” He turned to Firestar. “From one who has lived them.”

“That still leaves one question,” Sunstar called. “Who brought him here?”

Pinestar blinked. “Why, I did.”

“You  _ what?” _ Raggedstar yowled. “Pinestar, are you mouse-brained?”

“You have not seen what I have!” Pinestar spat back. “No, not even you!  _ Your _ son does not an army of our most vicious dead,  _ your _ son does not slay StarClan cats,  _ your _ son does not turn blood against blood and nearly rip the clans apart!”

“Is Tigerclaw really so dangerous?” Sunstar meowed. “After all, he has Bluestar’s trust –”

“Were none of you paying attention?” Firestar demanded. “Didn’t you see how I died?”

Pinestar snorted. “Bold of you, to assume they were paying attention.”

“You were murdered.” Raggedstar sounded unimpressed. “How, and by whom, is not our concern.”

“It was Tigerstar,” Firestar meowed. “Or Tigerclaw, to you.”

Pinestar spoke into the silence that followed. “I was there.” He looked around at the gathered cats as mutterings began to spread. “The clans have not known a villain like him since we came to the forest.”

“We beat him before,” Hailstar pointed out. “Your protégé’s presence is proof enough of that.”

“The cost,” Pinestar said coldly, “was too high.”

Firestar opened his mouth to contribute, but his vision swam and he staggered. Jake caught him. “What’s wrong?” he meowed.

“He has stayed too long,” Sunstar murmured. “He must return.”

“Quite so,” Pinestar agreed, as Firestar’s vision faded. “Be careful, Firestar. My son’s cunning knows no bounds.”

* * *

Firepaw opened his eyes into the blinding light of dawn and winced.

Then he winced again at Greypaw’s tear-choked cry.  _ “Firepaw!” _

“How…?”

_ Sandstorm. _ Firepaw turned blindly towards her voice, still squinting into the light. His vision cleared, slowly but surely, and he saw Sandpaw hovering over him, eyes wide – and behind her was Tigerclaw, who appeared equally shocked.

Suspicion, apparently, didn’t count as belief – especially if it had taken Firepaw as long to come back as he thought it had.

“Um,” he muttered, struggling to his feet. He swayed on the spot and Greypaw (bless him) immediately offered Firepaw his shoulder to lean on. Firepaw accepted it gratefully, slumping against him as he waited for his limbs to get the message that he wasn’t actually dead. “Ow.”

“What happened?” Greypaw demanded. “You just  _ disappeared _ – it was like an owl had swooped down out of the sky or something –”

Firepaw glanced nervously at Tigerclaw – not all of his wounds had healed, and the fresh scar on his neck burned anew whenever the massive tabby was nearby. He tried to say  _ it was Tigerclaw _ but the words stuck in his throat when the warrior’s gaze caught his.

“Disappeared?” he echoed, leaning harder on Greypaw. “Huh. That’s – huh.” He glanced around. “Where’s Redtail?”

“Out looking for you.” Dustpaw’s tail was lashing back and forth, and if the way he was bouncing on his feet was any indication, he was about to explode from worry and nerves. “He left with Runningwind and Mousefur as soon as we got back to camp.”

Firepaw blinked. “And he’s not...back...yet...?”

“Firepaw!”

“StarClan save me,” Firepaw muttered as Spottedleaf and Bluestar closed in on him from opposite sides.

“It appears they already have,” Bluestar meowed, her eyes full of wonder.

Spottedleaf sniffed at his injuries,  _ tsk _ ing here and there. “Pinestar?” she murmured.

Firepaw nodded.

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed – and behind him, a growl rumbled in Tigerclaw’s throat.

* * *

Spottedleaf didn’t speak as she treated his wounds. Firepaw was grateful – he was still exhausted from...everything.

“There will be questions,” Spottedleaf murmured. “I hope you’re prepared to answer them.”

Firepaw didn’t meet her gaze. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You’ll have to.” Spottedleaf’s voice was gentle but firm as she applied cobwebs to the last of his wounds. “Would it help if you talked to me first?”

_ Tigerclaw did this. _ He opened his mouth, but the sentence twisted into a choked, wordless noise and he turned his head away in shame.

Spottedleaf sighed. “I do not think that will satisfy Bluestar.”

Firepaw slumped. He needed to get Tigerclaw out of ThunderClan as soon as possible, but... Bluestar.  _ It’ll destroy her. _

Maybe with Redtail here it would be different.

“Is Redtail’s patrol back yet?” he rasped.

Spottedleaf opened her mouth to respond, but a yowl from the front entrance cut off her answer.

“Spottedleaf, we need you!”

_ Mousefur. _ Firepaw immediately tried to rise to his feet, but Spottedleaf snapped at him and he collapsed back into the nest. Best not to anger the medicine cat. He let his eyes drift shut – dying hardly counted as sleep –

“Redtail!”

Dustpaw’s frantic wail cut through him like – like, well, Tigerclaw’s claws. He shivered, burrowing a little deeper into the nest, but his eyes were fixed on the entrance to the den.

Within moments, Redtail came limping into the medicine den, leaning on Dustpaw as Spottedleaf swept inside behind them. “Set him down over there,” she meowed, gesturing to the nest beside Firepaw.

Redtail sagged in relief as he laid eyes on Firepaw. “You’re alive,” he murmured, as Dustpaw eased him into the nest.

Firepaw couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “You look terrible.”

He didn’t look as bad as Firepaw felt, but it was a near thing. He had scratches down his flanks that were steadily trickling blood, there was a deep nick in one ear, and his hind leg looked like someone had tried to rip it off. They’d been unsuccessful (thank StarClan) but the tooth-marks were deep, painful, and bleeding freely.

Redtail snorted. “You look worse.”

“Quiet, both of you,” Spottedleaf scolded. “How do you expect to get any rest with all this talking going on?”

“Is he going to be okay?” Dustpaw blurted out.

“He’ll be fine,” Spottedleaf assured him, carefully pasting a poultice of marigold on his leg and pushing a few poppy seeds towards Redtail. “You, though – you and your friends need some rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t slept all night.”

“We were sitting vigil,” Dustpaw protested.

“And now you’re not,” Spottedleaf pointed out, right as Redtail (just about to eat the poppy seeds) asked “What vigil?”

A few seconds of awkward looks passed before Spottedleaf pressed a pawful of cobwebs to Redtail’s leg. “When Tigerclaw brought Firepaw back to camp, we believed he was dead,” she said cautiously. “His denmates sat vigil for him, along with Tigerclaw. He only woke up once the sun rose.”

Redtail’s ears twitched. “You...believed he was dead.” The words were flatly incredulous. “How did you make that mistake, exactly.”

Dustpaw glanced at Firepaw, who shook his head.

Spottedleaf caught the exchange out of the corner of her eye and sighed. “StarClan’s intervention, I’m sure. He was neither breathing nor bleeding by the time Tigerclaw returned, and now?” She flicked her tail. “Well, he won’t be winning any battles, but he’s awake.”

Redtail was silent for a long moment. “Get some sleep, Dustpaw.”

“But –”

“Dustpaw!” Redtail snapped.

Dustpaw turned to Firepaw appealingly. “Firepaw –”

“He’s right,” Firepaw said. “All of you need to sleep. We’ll be fine.”

Dustpaw hesitated for a moment longer before turning and disappearing out of the den.

“You’ve become quite close,” Redtail remarked cautiously. “It’s...surprising.”

“He’s a good cat,” Firepaw said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “He’ll be a fine warrior.”

Redtail hummed what sounded like an agreement. “You may well be right,” he meowed.

Spottedleaf muttered something and Redtail snorted, but he lapped up the poppy seeds and soon he had dozed off.

“None for me?” Firepaw meowed as Spottedleaf began reorganizing her herb store.

Spottedleaf shook her head. “I’m sorry Firepaw. I know you must be in a lot of pain right now, but considering your circumstances it wouldn’t be safe to give you poppy seeds. Especially not with the head injuries you’ve sustained.”

Well, that was...new. He nodded and slumped back into his nest, trying to recall if he’d ever heard Yellowfang or Leafpool or Jayfeather mention anything of the sort (he loved Cinderpelt like a little sister, but she had never quite matched her mentor – or her apprentice). He didn’t think so, admittedly.

His vision grew dim as exhaustion claimed him, and he fell asleep without even realizing it.

* * *

Spottedleaf released Redtail to return to camp duties that same evening, but Firepaw was confined to the den for three more days before he was allowed to leave. Greypaw spent most of his free time keeping him company, but Lionheart (and apparently all the mentors – save Tigerclaw, for reasons Firepaw was  _ sure _ he couldn’t fathom) was working him to the bone with training.

He told Firepaw all about the Gathering – apparently, WindClan and ShadowClan almost came to blows over ShadowClan incursions on WindClan’s territory and Crookedstar had seemed on edge the entire time. Bluestar had warned the clans of rogue incursions near the Twolegplace but made no mention of Firepaw.

“Nice of her,” Firepaw muttered. “Anything else interesting?”

“I heard Oakheart asking about you,” Greypaw meowed. “Any idea why?”

Firepaw shrugged. “He was at Sunningrocks,” he meowed. “That might have something to do with it.” He sat up, washing his fur carefully. Greypaw moved to help him. “How’s Redtail?”

“He’s doing fine,” Greypaw assured him. “Dustpaw isn’t letting him out of his sight.” He dropped his voice. “Tigerclaw’s still trying to get him alone.” He hesitated. “Firepaw...was he the one who –”

_ “Don’t,” _ Firepaw rasped.

“Okay,” Greypaw meowed hastily, pressing against him. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Firepaw pressed his face into Greypaw’s fur. “I still see him,” he whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I can feel him tearing at my pelt –”

Greypaw brushed his tail comfortingly down Firepaw’s back. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s over, you’re safe.”

Firepaw didn’t answer, just pressed himself closer against his friend. Tears turned their pelts wet, but Greypaw didn’t seem to mind.

The nightmares weren’t so bad that night.

Spottedleaf let him leave the next day, with the stipulation that he was to check in with her every evening before going to sleep so she could check his wounds and make sure they were healing. Firepaw nodded agreeably and, as soon as she shooed him out, made a beeline for the opposite end of camp.

“Firepaw!” Redtail greeted him with a warm meow. “The miracle cat. I see Spottedleaf has finally freed you.”

Firepaw purred. “Thank StarClan. Another day in that den and I’d have flung myself into the claws of the next unfriendly cat I saw.”

“Speaking of unfriendly cats,” Redtail continued, and Firepaw’s heart sank, “I was hoping to ask you something.”

Firepaw’s tail twitched. “Oh? What is it?”

Redtail curled his tail around his paws. “After you disappeared, I took a patrol and followed your scent. Tigerclaw tells me you were set upon by rogues, but we found no rogue scents until we reached the Twolegplace.” He tilted his head. “The only scents I found were yours and Tigerclaw’s – from when he brought you back, I assume.”

Firepaw flinched, breaking eye contact. Redtail’s voice softened. “Firepaw, you are not in trouble. Far from it. I want to make sure that any threats to ThunderClan are dealt with, and swiftly. The rogues that attacked us were vicious, and if they pose a threat to our territory as a whole...”

When Firepaw didn’t respond, Redtail sighed. “Firepaw, if BloodClan is looking for you – if you are still in contact with them –”

“No!” Firepaw blurted out. “No – never,” he continued, more calmly. “I want nothing to do with them.”

Redtail nodded. “I believe you,” he meowed soothingly. “But then, how did you get all the way to Tallpines before you were attacked? Why leave the group at all?”

Other questions hung in the air between them, unspoken.  _ Who attacked you? Why did you answer when we called? _

_ Why are you still alive? _

Firepaw stepped back. “I can’t help you,” he meowed, summoning up all his experience from moons that had yet to pass. “I’m sorry. Don’t – don’t go looking for BloodClan. They’re –”

Images flashed in front of his eyes, of Whitestorm’s dead eyes and Cloudtail’s tattered fur and Tigerstar bleeding out nine times over, and he shuddered. All four clans had united, and still, it had barely been enough.

“Firepaw?” Redtail prompted.

Firepaw’s gaze snapped back to Redtail’s, Scourge’s sharp claws and blue eyes taunting him across time.

“He’s worse than Brokenstar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whichever of the Erins was responsible for the series timeline is cordially invited to duel me in a Denny's parking lot.


	9. Chapter 9

Firepaw spent most of his time these days avoiding Tigerclaw as much as possible. A pit seemed to open up in his stomach whenever he saw the great tabby warrior. Fortunately, his denmates seemed just as determined to keep Tigerclaw at a distance as he was – even Sandpaw.

Bluestar, though, was another matter.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join together for a Clan meeting!”

“D’you think it’s about –?” Ravenpaw cut himself off as Tigerclaw slid out of the shadows on the other side of camp, his cold amber gaze sending a shiver down Firepaw’s spine.

“What else?” Firepaw answered gloomily.

Ravenpaw swallowed nervously. “I – well, if you just told the truth, then maybe –”

“And let Tigerclaw know?” Firepaw shook his head. “I didn’t tell him anything _then_ , I’m  _ definitely _ not going to tell him now.”

“Not the whole clan, then,” Ravenpaw amended. “But maybe... Bluestar? Or Redtail?”

Firepaw was silent as he weighed the possibilities. He didn’t  _ trust _ Bluestar to believe him – or, if she did believe him, to stay sane afterward. But maybe... maybe things would be different this time. She still had Lionheart, and Spottedleaf – and Redtail. Maybe that would be enough.

As for Redtail... everyone who had known him had spoken of him with kindness. He had been Dustpelt’s mentor, before Darkstripe, and Dustpelt – well, Dustpelt’s respect was hard-won. But Dustpelt had respected Redtail.

Maybe he  _ should _ tell them. At least enough to get Tigerclaw out of ThunderClan (the odds were he’d go straight to ShadowClan after being exiled, just like he had last time – but he could deal with that, maybe Bluestar would even have an idea –)

Ravenpaw nudged him, jolting Firepaw out of his thoughts just as Bluestar began to speak.

“I’m sure most, if not all of you are aware of the miracle that took place only a few days ago,” she meowed. “One of our apprentices, young Firepaw, was found dead – murdered by rogues from the Twolegplace – and brought back to camp. His denmates sat vigil for him, but with the rising of the sun, Firepaw returned to life.”

Bluestar paused, waiting for someone to dispute her words. No one did – no one spoke at all.

“In light of this,” she meowed, “as well as his services to ThunderClan since he joined our ranks, and the rising tensions with RiverClan, I have seen fit to assign him a mentor. I shall take on Firepaw as my own apprentice.”

Several shocked meows cut through the crowd. “What an honor!” Greypaw hissed. “It’s been  _ moons _ – you already know this, don’t you,” he added, seeing the dry expression on Firepaw’s face.

“Then he is to be rewarded?” Tigerclaw called out. “For dying at the claws of enemy cats?”

Dustpaw hissed angrily as murmurs swept through the assembled cats. Redtail’s voice rose above the rest. “Tigerclaw, what –”

Bluestar cut him off. “You yourself spoke of how bravely Firepaw fought, did you not?” she pointed out. (Firepaw must have missed this – also, since when did Tigerclaw pay him any compliments?) “He is a worthy apprentice and a worthy member of our clan.”

Tigerclaw dipped his head. “Of course. My apologies.”

Bluestar let the silence stretch for a few moments before addressing the clan as a whole. “There is still the matter of the rogues who attacked Firepaw,” she meowed. “Redtail, you followed their original trail. I want you to take a patrol to the Twolegplace and gather as much information on this group as you can. This will be your sole task for today – I will be expecting your return near sundown.”

Redtail dipped his head, glancing towards Tigerclaw. “Of course, Bluestar.”

“Furthermore,” she continued, “until the rogue threat has been dealt with, no cat is to leave the camp alone. That is all.”

Bluestar leaped down from the High Rock. The clan parted, dispersing into muttering groups. Firepaw was rooted to the spot.

“This is good, right?” Greypaw whispered. He nudged Firepaw reassuringly. “You’ve got a mentor now! A real mentor!”

“Right,” Firepaw murmured. “Of course.”

He should have known this was going to happen. He  _ had _ known this was going to happen. He could deal with this.

(Maybe… maybe he could even tell Bluestar.)

Bluestar paused to exchange a few words with Tigerclaw. The massive tabby bowed his head, the picture of contrition, and Bluestar touched his flank reassuringly. Firepaw bit back a growl at the sight.

Lionheart called for Greypaw, who butted his shoulder reassuringly before padding after his mentor.

Firepaw watched him go, wishing he could follow. He tore his gaze away from Greypaw to see Bluestar standing in front of him.

“Come with me,” she meowed. “It is time we began your battle training properly.”

Firepaw followed her along the trail to the training hollow. This greenleaf was a drastically short one – it had only just begun, but Firepaw could already see a handful of leaves in the trees above beginning to turn color. The wind whipped about fiercely, tugging his pelt this way and that – Firepaw tasted the air every time it changed direction, but he caught no scents but his and Bluestar’s, and the occasional slow mouse.

“Tigerclaw is holding his training session in another part of the forest today,” Bluestar explained as she padded into the center of the hollow. “I want to concentrate on your fighting skills, and I want  _ you  _ to concentrate on them too – which means no distractions.”

Firepaw’s ears twitched. “Is Tigerclaw not part of Redtail’s patrol, then?”

Bluestar shook his head. “I believe Redtail is taking Whitestorm and Longtail with him.”

“Are Dustpaw and Sandpaw accompanying him?” Firepaw wanted to know.

_ “That _ is up to their mentors,” Bluestar meowed. “Now, you’ve had little occasion to fight since you’ve joined us, but I’ve seen you be quick against the fox and fierce in the battle against RiverClan and the fight with Longtail. You were clever in your training as well, and your mind is sharp.” She paused, then lowered her voice to an intense hiss. “But one day you will meet an opponent who is all of these things as well – quick and fierce and clever. It’s my duty to prepare you for that day.”

Firepaw nodded. She’d said the same thing last time.

_ Quick and fierce and clever, _ he thought, with no small trace of bitterness.  _ You have no idea. _

“Like Tigerclaw,” he suggested, keeping none of the bitterness out of his voice.

Bluestar nodded, apparently believing that his bitterness was leveled at the ‘rogues’ who had attacked him. “Indeed. Let’s see how you fight,” she meowed. “Attack me.”

Firepaw crouched, sweeping his gaze across Bluestar. She was larger than him by far (though not as large as Tigerclaw) – he couldn’t unbalance her by force alone.

He remembered Brightheart’s strategy, the way she wove back and forth to keep cats from slipping over to her blind side. Firepaw let his gaze fall towards Bluestar’s left side before swerving to the right, kicking out his hind legs to knock Bluestar’s front paws out from under her.

Bluestar hissed and staggered, but when Firepaw whirled around he saw her still on her feet. His heart sank a bit – he still wasn’t used to being so small and (at least comparatively) weak. Being younger might solve aching joints, but he also lost the sheer brawn and muscle of a full-grown cat.

“Good strategy,” she meowed, “but you don’t have the power to tackle me head-on. You’re strong, yes, but not that strong.”

Firepaw cursed inwardly. He  _ should _ know that. Outwardly, he just nodded, sinking back into a crouch. A cat like Bluestar couldn’t be taken down with a single blow, not without the element of surprise (especially not by an apprentice). He tried the moves he’d used on Dustpaw during their first nighttime training session – he aimed a swipe at her head and, when she knocked it aside, hooked her other foreleg and slammed into her.

Bluestar staggered, scrambling to keep her footing. Firepaw gave her an extra shove and the ThunderClan leader went tumbling into the dirt with a hiss.

Firepaw took a few steps back and shook his head, panting. Apparently, he thought wryly, he wasn’t as well recovered as he’d thought.

Bluestar rose to her feet as a purr rumbled in her chest. “That was much better,” she meowed. “Now it’s my turn.”

She sprang at him, knocking him to the ground, then retreated and let him pick himself up before leaping again. Firepaw backed away, hissing – Bluestar advanced, matching him pawstep for pawstep. She leaped again – but this time, Firepaw wasn’t there when she landed. He shot forward like a hare, sliding under her belly and springing onto her back when she landed. She spat, dropping to her belly and rolling – Firepaw jumped free, aiming a swipe at her face before she could regain her feet.

He hissed when Bluestar’s hind legs kicked out, catching him in the chest, and backed away as she sprang to her feet, wheeling around to face. “Very good,” she praised. “But a downed warrior is not a helpless warrior.”

Firepaw nodded, rolling his shoulders to dispel the building aches in his muscles.

“I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be so experienced,” Bluestar meowed. “I expected you knew the basics, but I didn’t think you had such a grasp of the principles.”

Firepaw shrugged. “I had a good teacher,” he meowed, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice as he thought of his early moons – his  _ true _ early moons when the first golden leaves had fallen and Bluestar had spent the entire day teaching him the ways of the ThunderClan warrior.

“Clearly,” Bluestar meowed, her eyes glowing with approval. 

On the heels of those memories came ones of Bluestar’s last moons. He shook his head. “There’s always more to learn, though, isn’t there?”

Bluestar nodded. “Quite so. You’ve clearly mastered the basics – let’s see what else you know.”

They trained until the sun was high overhead. Bluestar kept pushing at Firepaw’s abilities, trying to find their limit, and Firepaw had a counter for nearly every attack she threw his way. Techniques and moves were all well and good, but  _ adaptability _ was key. He’d tried to instill that in his denmates, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to focus on it before – well. Before they’d been… interrupted, to put it delicately.

Of course,  _ nearly _ every attack wasn’t the same as  _ every  _ attack. Bluestar’s hind legs flashed out and caught Firepaw’s exposed side. Pain flashed through his body as he was flung backward, and he crashed into the dirt with a hiss of pain. The growing aches in his muscles flared to roaring life and he lay winded, temporarily stunned into immobility and silence.

“Firepaw?” Bluestar’s worried face loomed over him. “Are you – ” She broke off, her eyes leaving his face to sweep over his body. “Your wounds. They’ve reopened.”

Firepaw lifted his head and saw that she was right – his pelt was stained with dark red patches from the numerous wounds Tigerclaw had inflicted on him days before. “Mouse dung,” he muttered, heaving himself to his feet with a wince.  _ Ow. _ “It’ll probably stop in a moment – ”

“Don’t be absurd,” Bluestar said sharply. “You’re injured. Battle training can wait until you’re not bleeding all over the hollow.”

“‘m not  _ bleeding all over the hollow,” _ Firepaw muttered, but he allowed Bluestar to support him with her shoulder and lead him back to camp. He shook her off as they neared, however – he was  _ certainly _ not going to be  _ carried _ into camp twice in a row. Bluestar huffed, but allowed it, calling out to Spottedleaf as they entered.

Greypaw bounded over immediately, yellow eyes wide and the fur on his spine beginning to bristle. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s fine,” Firepaw assured him. “I just reopened a few scratches.” He frowned. “Weren’t you supposed to be training with Lionheart?”

Greypaw flicked his tail dismissively. “We went on sunhigh patrol, so now we’re eating. Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay?” he asked anxiously, nosing at Firepaw’s scruff.

Firepaw purred. “I’m fine, Greypaw,” he promised. “It’s nothing serious.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Spottedleaf meowed as she swept in, shooing Greypaw away and leading Firepaw and Bluestar into the medicine den.

Spottedleaf tsked as she looked him over. “Bluestar, I wouldn’t have thought I’d need to tell you that throwing a recently-healed apprentice into battle training is a bad idea, but apparently it needs to be said.”

Bluestar’s whiskers twitched. “He’s a fine fighter,” she meowed. “He’ll be a formidable warrior one day.”

“One day?” Firepaw blurted out, stung. “I was doing  _ fine!” _

“Until you were kicked halfway across the training hollow,” Bluestar pointed out dryly.

Spottedleaf meowed in exasperation as Firepaw huffed. “It’s not  _ my _ fault the wounds decided to reopen,” he muttered.

Bluestar hummed. “Indeed,” she meowed. Something in her tone made Firepaw tense up. “Speaking of your wounds, I have some questions to ask you. I hope you won’t mind,” she added, obviously picking up on his tension. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Firepaw glanced at Spottedleaf, who was conveniently turned away, completely engrossed in her herb store.  _ Traitor, _ he thought. “Of course, Bluestar. Ask away.”

Bluestar dipped her head and sat down next to him, wrapping her tail neatly over her paws. “How did you survive?” she meowed, watching him carefully. “When Tigerclaw brought you back to camp – ”

Firepaw flinched.

“ – even Spottedleaf believed you to be dead,” she finished. “And yet, here you stand – battered, but alive. How is that possible?”

Firepaw shuffled his paws awkwardly. “Er – StarClan works in mysterious ways…?”

Bluestar sighed. “Firepaw.”

Firepaw ducked his head, feeling like a kit caught sneaking out of the nursery. “Right, sorry. I…” He cast another look at Spottedleaf, but she was determinedly avoiding his gaze and he surrendered himself to the notion that she would be no help here. “I – well, I’ve been having these dreams. There’s a – a cat named Pinestar. And…”

Bluestar leaned forward. “Go on.”

Firepaw took a deep breath and eyed the opening of the den. “He brought me back from… well…”

“The dead?” Bluestar guessed, her tone understanding.

“No,” Firepaw admitted. “From, ah, the future.”

There was a sudden, soft  _ thump _ as Spottedleaf dropped the herbs she was carrying in her jaws.

Bluestar blinked. “I… the future?”

Firepaw nodded. “The future,” he confirmed. “I was… I was a leader. StarClan granted me nine lives, and when Pinestar brought me back, they were… restored, somehow. I don’t think he was expecting it.”

“A leader,” Bluestar echoed.

Firepaw squirmed as Spottedleaf applied the last of the marigold and cobwebs – less from the sting of the herbs and more from the blank fixation of Bluestar’s gaze.

This was… so much bigger than Tigerclaw. What if he’d miscalculated? What if he’d only hastened her descent into decrepit insanity? What if –

“Thank you, Firepaw,” she meowed, and Firepaw nearly collapsed with relief. “I must think on what you’ve told me.”

With a jolt, Firepaw realized she still didn’t know about Tigerclaw. “Wait – ”

“Later, Firepaw,” Bluestar meowed firmly. “I must think.”

Firepaw faltered. “I… yes. Of course, Bluestar.”

_ Soon, _ he swore to her retreating back.  _ I must tell you soon. _

* * *

Tigerclaw looked up from his fresh-kill, licking the last bits of sparrow from his lips as Bluestar approached.

“Tigerclaw,” she greeted, with the maternal warmth that had always turned his stomach. ThunderClan was made of  _ warriors, _ not kits. Coddling would only get them killed when RiverClan finally grew bolder than Sunningrocks skirmishes.

“Bluestar,” he returned, trying to project enough warmth to match her own. “What can I do for you?”

Bluestar’s eyes clouded. Tigerclaw’s ears pricked up – anything that could get Bluestar worried was of interest to him. “That is an excellent question,” she murmured. “I need your advice on some… new developments. Yours and Lionheart’s,” she clarified, and Tigerclaw’s spirits dipped. The golden tabby warrior was almost as soft and idealistic as Bluestar – more so, in some cases. One only had to look at his apprentice Greypaw to see that.

_ Then again, _ he thought darkly, his thoughts turned to the skittish black shadow that had the audacity to call itself a clan cat, never mind his apprentice,  _ perhaps one shouldn’t judge mentors by the quality of their apprentices. _

He realized that Bluestar was waiting for a response and rose to his feet, dipping his head in acquiescence. “Of course,” he meowed. “I’m always happy to help.”

Bluestar’s eyes softened. “That’s what you do, isn’t it,” she murmured. “Help.”

Tigerclaw briefly contemplated just killing her on the spot but shook the impulse before it could form into anything more than a fleeting notion.

The moment passed. Bluestar flicked her tail. “Meet me in my den,” she meowed. “I will fetch Lionheart.”

And  _ that _ was the job of an apprentice, not a senior warrior – much less a leader – but Tigerclaw just nodded again and padded towards the High Rock, slipping through the curtain of lichen into the leader’s den.

One day, this would be his place. The cats of ThunderClan would come here seeking his advice and strength, and the cats of other, lesser clans would crawl here on their bellies – if they lived long enough to beg for mercy, that is.

The lichen rustled behind him. Tigerclaw stepped aside as Bluestar entered, followed by Lionheart.

“Firepaw has informed me of some… rather disturbing news,” Bluestar meowed, circling around to settle into her nest.

Tigerclaw’s chest tightened, but he maintained a neutral expression. “Has he?”

“Indeed,” Bluestar meowed. “Both of you are, of course, aware of his miraculous recovery – you especially,” she added, nodding to Tigerclaw. “You sat vigil for him, did you not?”

Tigerclaw shrugged. Truthfully, he had wanted to ensure that the kittypet scrap stayed dead – he was surprisingly tenacious, and although he had confirmed that Tigerclaw was destined for leadership, the incident at Sunningrocks still unsettled him. More so, now – before, it had only been moments – the kittypet could have been stunned by the blows of the rocks. But now, it was certain: Firepaw lost lives the way leaders did. “It seemed like the right thing to do. He has no kin here.”

Bluestar inclined her head. “This is true,” she meowed. “And I believe he has revealed why.”

“Why?” Lionheart echoed. “We know why. He was a kittypet – a rogue, before that. He wasn’t clanborn.”

“He was sent to us,” Bluestar meowed. “By StarClan – by Pinestar.”

Tigerclaw couldn’t stop a growl from forcing its way out of his throat.  _ “Pinestar?” _

“Pinestar,” Bluestar confirmed, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’m well aware of your personal feelings, Tigerclaw. But if Firepaw was truly sent by StarClan – ”

“Who else could have done it?” Lionheart meowed. “Who else has that power?”

“The Dark Forest,” Tigerclaw rumbled.

Both Bluestar and Lionheart turned to him, shocked. Tigerclaw himself was a little surprised by this sudden stroke of genius – but what better way to discredit the loose end than to plant the idea that he was sent by StarClan’s antithesis?

“Think about it,” he meowed, warming to the theme. “He only returned once the stars had vanished – when StarClan’s eyes turned away from him.”

“That seems… far-fetched,” Lionheart meowed skeptically.

“So is a  _ kittypet _ being sent by StarClan,” Tigerclaw shot back.

Bluestar looked troubled. Tigerclaw ruthlessly quashed the small flare of triumph in his chest. “You truly believe this?” she meowed.

“I didn’t want to,” Tigerclaw admitted. “But the same thing happened in the skirmish with RiverClan over Sunningrocks. He saved Oakheart’s life and was crushed by the rockfall in his stead.”

Bluestar’s ears pricked up. “He saved Oakheart’s life?”

Lionheart glanced at Tigerclaw. “It appears so.”

“The enemy,” Tigerclaw reminded her. She was entirely too soft on RiverClan. “He abandoned his post at Redtail’s side to do so.”

Bluestar wavered. “Yes, I… I suppose that’s true.” She shook herself. “Lionheart?”

The golden tabby shrugged. “I don’t believe StarClan would allow the Dark Forest to move so openly and so blatantly without sending so much as a sign,” he meowed. “And he’s a good cat – he’ll be a fine warrior. Hardly an instrument of evil.”

“Now, perhaps,” Tigerclaw pointed out. “But what about after he becomes a warrior? The cats of the Dark Forest seek the destruction of all the clans. I doubt there’s any cat there who wouldn’t trade their pelts for an agent in ThunderClan.”

“You forget that Pinestar is the one who sent him back,” Lionheart argued. “Pinestar was a fine leader and a good cat – ”

“He abandoned his clan,” Tigerclaw snapped back. “He turned his back on his duty and slunk off to live in the Twolegplace as a  _ kittypet.” _ He sneered the last word. “Why would StarClan welcome him amongst their ranks?”

“One mistake is not enough to condemn cat,” Bluestar pointed out. “If it were, StarClan would be empty, and the Dark Forest would be full to bursting.”

“Abandoning one’s kin is hardly  _ one mistake,” _ Tigerclaw said stiffly.

A troubled look flickered over Bluestar’s face. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “But perhaps not.” She flicked her tail. “Lionheart, you may go. I wish to speak to Tigerclaw further.”

Lionheart dipped his head and exited the den, leaving Tigerclaw alone with Bluestar.

“You don’t agree with me?” Tigerclaw asked.

Bluestar didn’t respond right away. “I think your feelings about your father are clouding your judgment,” she meowed. “But I also think you have this clan’s best interests at heart. Keep an eye on young Firepaw. If you are right, he is the deadliest threat we have ever faced. If you are wrong, there is something coming that not even StarClan can warn us of.”

Tigerclaw dipped his head. “Of course, Bluestar. You can count on  _ me.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, it's all going straight down the drain. Firepaw is still a goober, Tigerclaw is still a trashman.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redtail does, in fact, have more than two brain cells to rub together.

Firepaw was sharing a mouse with Greypaw when Redtail’s patrol returned to camp. It was just past sundown, and all five cats looked exhausted. Longtail headed straight for the warrior’s den, while Whitestorm picked a sparrow from the fresh-kill pile and joined Lionheart near the nettle patch where the senior warriors ate.

Sandpaw and Dustpaw flopped down next to Firepaw and Greypaw with a mouse apiece. “My paws are going to fall off,” Dustpaw moaned. “How do kittypets _stand_ walking on that stuff?”

Firepaw _mrrowed_ with amusement, his eyes following Redtail as the older cat ducked into Bluestar’s den. “Practice,” he meowed, thinking of Cherrytail’s tough grey pads and how much trouble he’d had clambering around SkyClan’s gorge. “Did you find anything?”

Sandpaw shook her head. “Just some old rogues complaining about how much better things were when _Jay_ was around. _Jay_ this _Jay_ that – I don’t suppose that name means anything to you?”

Firepaw severely doubted it was a _Jay_ related to his grandson (the thought sent a pang through his heart – he had a soft spot for foul-tempered medicine cats, it seemed, especially ones that scrunched up their faces like aging elders when they were two moons old) and shook his head. “No, nothing. It sounds like she was the leader of the Twolegplace cats, though.” A thought triggered in his head and he frowned. “Do you know how she died?” _Did Scourge kill her?_

Dustpaw shrugged. “Nobody said. They weren’t exactly talkative though.” He snorted. “Who knew Twolegplace cats had backbones?”

Firepaw regarded him silently for a moment before getting to his feet. “I think I’ll turn in early. Good night Greypaw, Ravenpaw. Good night Sandpaw.”

As he padded towards the apprentice den, he heard Dustpaw meowing in confusion behind him. He had almost slipped inside when he heard the meows of playful kits and stumbled back just in time to avoid trodding on two balls of fluff – one golden-brown and tabby-striped, the other dark gray and vibrating with energy.

Firepaw purred. “Hello there, little apprentices. Did you have your ceremonies already?”

Cinderkit puffed up immediately. “Not yet!” she meowed. “Mama says we still have to wait another _whole moon.”_

“It’s the warrior code,” Brackenkit mumbled. “We gotta wait until six moons.”

Firepaw purred. “Very good. You’ll be fine warriors someday, as quick as you learn.”

Brackenkit puffed up almost as much as his sister.

“Brackenkit! Cinderkit!” Frostfur hurried over. “Come away from there, don’t bother the apprentices!” She shot an apologetic glance at Firepaw as she curled her tail around her kits.

“They’re wonderful kits,” Firepaw said warmly. “I’m sure they’ll be fine warriors.” _I’ll make sure of it,_ he vowed, glancing at Cinderkit. _I’ll make sure you have every chance in the world._

“Of course they will,” Frostfur agreed, but her gaze softened. “Thank you, Firepaw.”

“Of course,” Firepaw meowed easily. “Have you eaten yet, by the way?”

Frostfur blinked. “Oh – yes, Ravenpaw brought us some fresh-kill earlier. The elders as well.”

Firepaw dipped his head as Frostfur herded her kits back to the nursery. Firepaw’s gaze followed her, and he saw three more fuzzy faces peering out of the den – one white-and-ginger, one golden-brown, and one black-and-white.

 _Brightheart,_ he realized. _Thornclaw. And…_

His heart ached as the last face disappeared. _Swiftpaw._ Brave, fierce, eager Swiftpaw, gone too soon.

 _Not this time,_ he promised himself. This time, Swiftpaw was going to earn his warrior name and live a long, proud life – and Cinderpelt would never go _near_ the Thunderpath. Brightheart would never hear the name Lostface.

If he could save no one else, he could save those kits. His friends.

* * *

That night, he dreamed.

Firestar awoke in Pinestar’s clearing, annoyance already rising in his chest as the headache that had been pestering him since he spoke to Bluestar that afternoon grew steadily worse. “What is _now?”_ he groaned, unable to keep the whine out of his voice.

“Don’t be cross with _me,”_ Pinestar muttered, appearing at his shoulder. “I tried to talk them out of it, but I was out-voted.”

Firestar’s pelt prickled. “Talk them out of what?”

“It was agreed, Pinestar.” Heatherstar’s voice echoed out of the mist as she stepped forward. “You are too close to the issue at hand.”

“And what, _exactly,”_ Firestar cut in frostily, “is the issue at hand?”

“You have not kept your promises.” Hailstar appeared next to her, his yellow eyes cold and cutting.

Firestar blinked. “Promises?” he echoed.

“Two RiverClan kits drowned in the last quarter-moon,” Hailstar meowed. “We could have sent a warning if we had been able to foresee it. You did nothing.”

“I didn’t – ”

“Didn’t what?” Raggedstar snapped from Heatherstar’s other side. “Didn’t _know?_ That’s exactly the problem. You don’t _know_ anything about the other clans.” He shook his massive head. “It’s a risk we can’t take.”

Firestar’s fur stood on end. He dropped into a defensive crouch and hissed – if StarClan wanted him gone, after bringing him here, they’d have to make a fight out of it –

Heatherstar raised her tail. “Peace, Firestar. We mean you no harm. But your knowledge of the future comes at too great a cost for the forest to bear. A WindClan apprentice was mauled by dogs because I could not send a warning. She will not survive. RiverClan lost two kits to the water. Even ShadowClan struggles under the onslaught of carrionplace rats.”

“There must be another way,” Pinestar protested. “He’s done so much good already – he’s saved Redtail and Oakheart, prepared ThunderClan’s apprentices for what lies ahead –”

“But at what cost?” Hailstar meowed, shaking his head. “No, Pinestar. There must be balance. Sunstar understands this.”

Pinestar swung his head around, shock widening his eyes, as Sunstar stepped out of the mists. “You –?”

“I did,” Sunstar agreed, eyes sorrowful. “I am sorry, Pinestar – but the forest needs four clans, not just ThunderClan.”

Firestar lashed his tail. “Don’t act like I’m not here,” he spat. “What are you planning? _What have you done?”_

“Your future memories are preventing us from seeing clearly,” Heatherstar meowed. She looked to Raggedstar.

The massive tom’s amber gaze bored into Firestar’s. “So we removed them.”

Before Firestar could yowl his protests, the trees closed in around him. The ground gave way beneath him and he fell, fell, fell…

Until the darkness claimed him.

* * *

Firepaw woke up with a yowl, flailing desperately as his paws became tangled in the moss. “What did you _do?”_ he wailed.

Something warm pressed into his side – someone was licking the top of his head, murmuring soothing words.

Slowly, he settled, still panting. “Greypaw?” he croaked weakly. His voice felt like it had been ripped out by foxes and his fur felt like it was on – well, on fire.

“It’s me,” Greypaw assured him.

Firepaw opened his jaws to respond, but before he could, Sandpaw’s hiss cut through the air.

“What in StarClan’s name is _wrong_ with you?” she spat. As far as Firepaw could tell, she was curled up in the back of the den, somewhere out of sight. He reached for the memory of their life _before,_ the first time around –

– and was met with a resounding blank.

They… they had daughters. He was almost certain they had daughters, and grandkits, but he couldn’t remember anything _about_ them – there was a Jay (a Jayfeather, the medicine cat, he could remember remembering him), a gentle Leaf… something, a Lionblaze, a Squirrel...paw? He couldn’t remember a warrior name – and a Hollyleaf that had reminded him of Sand – Sand _storm_ . He remembered knowing this after he’d come back, but he _couldn’t actually remember them._

“What’s happening to me?” he rasped, searching Greypaw’s gaze for answers.

Greypaw stared back. “Um,” he meowed uncertainly, “did you eat? Should I get you something?”

“Water,” Firepaw rasped.

“I’ll get Spottedleaf,” Ravenpaw meowed, darting out of the den.

Firepaw nodded gratefully and slumped back into his nest, closing his eyes as Greypaw continued to lap at his forehead.

 _“StarClan is full of fools,”_ Pinestar murmured in his ear. _“I will do what I can. Be strong, Firestar.”_

“Pinestar?” Firepaw rasped. “Wait –”

“Firepaw?”

Firepaw’s ears twitched as Spottedleaf’s voice drifted into the den, accompanied by the faint rustle of grass and Ravenpaw’s scent. “Still here,” he managed, trying to turn his head to greet Spottedleaf properly. But his neck had stiffened sometime during the night and he could barely turn it enough to see Ravenpaw, crouched in his nest next to Firepaw’s.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” Spottedleaf meowed, ushering Greypaw to the side. She sniffed at Firepaw. “You must be burning up,” she murmured sympathetically. “You have a nasty fever. Ravenpaw, could you fetch some moss soaked in water? There should be some moss in my den.”

Firepaw huffed a weak agreement as Ravenpaw darted off. “Feeling?” he asked, not sure what she was after.

“I need to know what’s hurting you,” Spottedleaf explained.

Oh. Well, that made sense. “My head,” he meowed. “And my neck. Throat. Both.”

Spottedleaf nodded and pressed a paw gently against his chest. “Can you cough for me?”

Firepaw coughed obediently. The action scraped his already-sore throat raw and he had to bite back a whimper. Suddenly, he wished Yellowfang was here – but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of _why,_ or even who, exactly, Yellowfang was.

Spottedleaf hummed as she removed her paw. “Well, the good news is that you don’t have greencough.” A sigh of relief swept through the den. “I’ll fetch some borage and feverfew for you. Greypaw, could you help him to my den?”

Greypaw meowed an agreement just as a terrified yelp sounded from the camp. Firepaw immediately tried to climb to his paws, but it took Greypaw’s sturdy shoulder to keep him upright. “Ravenpaw –”

Spottedleaf had already disappeared into the clearing. As Greypaw helped Firepaw forwards, Firepaw saw her stalking towards Tigerclaw, who was towering over a petrified Ravenpaw.

 _“What_ are you doing?” she demanded, planting herself in front of the massive warrior. “Don’t you have better things to do than terrorize your apprentice in the middle of the night?”

“I’m _disciplining_ him,” Tigerclaw responded icily. “We can’t have apprentices running off in the middle of the night. Or have you forgotten what happened last time?”

Firepaw flinched, pressing himself closer against Greypaw’s thick fur. Greypaw licked his ears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “We’re almost there.”

“Hardly,” Spottedleaf meowed coolly. “But I have a sick patient. So, if you _don’t_ mind, I sent Ravenpaw to collect some water from the river.”

Tigerclaw blinked. “A patient?” he echoed. “Who? One of the apprentices, I assume.” His gaze cut across to land squarely on Firepaw. “Ah. I see. Our newcomer.”

“Is your curiosity satisfied?” Spottedleaf meowed tartly. “Ravenpaw, go. Run swiftly.”

Ravenpaw darted off immediately, leaving Tigerclaw and Spottedleaf to stare each other down as Greypaw and Firepaw finally made it into the medicine den. Firepaw sank into the nearest nest with a sigh of relief.

Greypaw circled him anxiously. “Do you need anything?” he meowed worriedly. “I mean, aside from water. Fresh-kill?” he offered, bouncing nervously from one foot to another.

Firepaw shook his head. “Don’t think I could eat if I wanted to,” he murmured.

“Can’t eat?” Greypaw echoed, no small amount of alarm in his voice. “But –”

“Thank you, Greypaw.” Spottedleaf’s voice still held a twinge of irritation as she entered the den. “That will be all. Why don’t you return to your den?”

Greypaw startled, but, with one last glance at Firepaw, darted out of the den.

Spottedleaf sighed as she padded over to the herb stores. Within moments, she had returned with a mouthful of herbs and set them down in front of Firepaw. “Here,” she meowed. “Eat these. Borage and feverfew to bring down your fever and a poppy seed to help you rest and recover. The feverfew will also help with your headache.”

Firepaw sniffed at the herbs before chewing them obediently. Swallowing made him wince, but he managed it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for doing my job,” Spottedleaf purred. “Have you experienced any other symptoms recently? Or can you think of what might have caused this?”

Firepaw blinked. “I – well, I had a headache yesterday, but I didn’t think much of it.” His breathing hitched. “And I can’t... did I tell you about my daughters?”

“From the future?” Spottedleaf guessed. “No. You never mentioned them to me.”

“My daughters,” Firepaw murmured. “I can’t... I can’t remember their names. I can’t remember anything about them. I know they exist, I remember that I used to remember them, but...”

Spottedleaf laid her tail over Firepaw’s shoulder. “I am sorry,” she murmured. “Do you know what’s causing this?”

“StarClan,” Firepaw rasped. “I had a dream – they said my memories were blocking their sight and –” He broke off as a wave of pain wracked his body. “They must have taken them.”

“I am sorry,” Spottedleaf repeated. “I am sure they had their reasons – StarClan works in mysterious ways –”

Firepaw snorted. “So mysterious that StarClan doesn’t even know what StarClan is doing.”

 _“Hey,”_ Pinestar meowed indignantly.

“Oh, shut up,” Firepaw murmured, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Firepaw’s fever raged for days. Greypaw fretted the entire time – Lionheart noticed because of course he did.

“I’m sure Firepaw will be fine,” he meowed, laying his tail over Greypaw’s flank. “He is young and strong, and Spottedleaf is a fine medicine cat.”

“But he didn’t even want to _eat,”_ Greypaw meowed in distress. “How can a cat not want to eat?”

Lionheart hummed. “I’ve seen it happen,” he meowed. “It’s not unheard of for sick cats to lose their appetite.”

Greypaw wasn’t reassured. “What happened to the sick cats who didn’t eat?” He hesitated. “Did… did they die?”

“Some,” Lionheart admitted. “The very young and the elders, primarily. Firepaw is not so vulnerable as that. He’s a strong young apprentice, and Spottedleaf is a skilled medicine cat. I do not think StarClan will call him just yet.”

“Maybe,” Greypaw meowed doubtfully.

“Have faith,” Lionheart repeated, not unkindly. “But I believe that we’ve done enough training. Let’s return to camp – and don’t forget your sparrow,” he added, whiskers twitched. “You can see if Firepaw has an appetite again.”

At that, Greypaw brightened. He bounded ahead of Lionheart, making a beeline for the medicine den as soon as he got back to camp.

“Hi, Spottedleaf!” he meowed, trying not to trip over his paws as he nearly ran full-tilt into the medicine cat. “Is Firepaw awake?”

Spottedleaf nodded. “He is indeed.” She eyed the sparrow in his mouth. “Is that for him?”

Greypaw nodded. “I thought maybe his appetite would be better?”

Spottedleaf sighed. “No worse, at least, but I don’t think I’d call it better. He’s having trouble keeping food down.” Her eyes glimmered with worry. “If you don’t mind keeping him company, I need to gather more borage. His fever is still high.”

Greypaw’s ears flattened. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?” he meowed quietly.

“I have my suspicions,” she admitted. “But I think it’s best not to share them yet.”

Greypaw tried not to shriek in frustration as Spottedleaf padded off, leaving him to duck into medicine den. It had been almost a quarter-moon since Firepaw had woken up sick and screaming. She had to know!

A horrible thought seized him. What if it was something really terrible and she couldn’t do anything about it?

Inside the medicine den, Firepaw lifted his head. “Greypaw?” he rasped. “Are you done with training already?”

Greypaw nodded, padding over to his friend and settling down next to him in the nest. Firepaw leaned back against him and Greypaw shifted himself around so his head was resting on Firepaw’s shoulder. His sparrow lay next to Firepaw’s head. “Spottedleaf said you still weren’t eating?”

Firepaw chuckled rustily. “I tried,” he assured Greypaw. “It didn’t take.”

Greypaw mrrowed unhappily. “Did you manage to keep _anything_ down?”

“The herbs,” Firepaw admitted. “Some honey. I think most of the mouse was a lost cause, though.”

Tired silence stretched between them. Firepaw dozed on and off in short bursts, often waking up with a whimper or a cry.

“What do you see?” Greypaw asked. “When you dream, I mean.”

Firepaw nosed into Greypaw’s fur. “Cats, usually. I should know them, but… the only one I recognize is Pinestar. I think he’s trying to help, but,” Firepaw sighed. “It’s not working.”

Greypaw nodded and began grooming Firepaw’s fur absently. As he worked – at a loss for what else to do – he told Firepaw everything that Firepaw had told him when he’d first told Greypaw all about the future. He talked about Sandpaw’s weird theories from before she’d found out about the truth.

“You know she thought you were from RiverClan at first?” he meowed, trying to smooth down a particularly stubborn patch of fur on Firepaw’s flank.

Firepaw laughed. “Really?”

Then he tensed under Greypaw’s tongue. “Wait – Greypaw, where is Sandpaw now?”

Greypaw blinked. “Um… I’m not sure. Probably training with Whitestorm?”

“Right,” Firepaw murmured. “When she’s finished… could you ask her to come?”

Greypaw blinked again. “I – yeah, sure,” he meowed, deciding that it was probably a safer option than trying to figure out whatever Firepaw was thinking. “Do you need anything else?”

Firepaw shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind. Thanks for coming by.”

“Of course.” Greypaw rose to his feet, nudging the sparrow a little closer. “Try and eat something if you can, okay?” he meowed, not even trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

“I will,” Firepaw promised. He flicked his tail. “Get going. You still need to eat, and I bet Lionheart has way more training for you to do tomorrow.”

Greypaw purred. “I hope so! I’ve almost got the bird-hunting technique down.”

Firepaw purred back. “Looks like you’ve already got a handle on it,” he meowed, flicking an ear towards the sparrow Greypaw had brought. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Greypaw meowed, then padded out of the den to go wait for Sandpaw.

He found Ravenpaw crouched over a mouse near the apprentices’ den, eyes darting about nervously.

“Hi,” Greypaw meowed, taking a seat next to him. “How was training?”

Ravenpaw shuffled his paws. “Oh, you know,” he meowed evasively, “same as usual. Tigerclaw sent me hunting near Thunderpath.”

Greypaw nodded. “Lionheart had me near Tallpines,” he meowed. “There was this _huge_ blackbird...”

The pair swapped training stories as the sun fell towards the horizon. More than once, Greypaw found himself glancing towards the medicine den, wondering how Firepaw was doing. Spottedleaf had come back with a mouthful of herbs after only a short time and sent Dustpaw bounding out into the forest after he poked his head in.

Brackenkit had tried to sneak into the medicine den, only to be ushered away by Frostfur. Greypaw had been surprised to see Frostfur speaking with Spottedleaf a short while later, her kits winding around her ankles. Spottedleaf had nodded to whatever Frostfur was saying and with a meow from the white-furred queen they had darted off towards the fresh-kill pile and started squabbling over which mouse was the best. Personally, Greypaw thought Brackenkit had chosen the best one (and not just because Greypaw had been the one to catch it) but Cinderkit was the most vocal and overrode her siblings.

Carrying their trophy, the four kits raced off towards the medicine den. _They must be visiting Firepaw,_ he realized with a jolt. He hadn’t realized his friend had made any real impression on the inhabitants of the clan’s nursery.

Ravenpaw had been watching them as well. “I think Frostfur likes him,” he meowed, finishing off his mouse and stealing a bite of Greypaw’s squirrel. “He was extra-nice to her kits the other day, and since he doesn’t have any kin in the clan...”

“Willowpelt always said Frostfur was the mothering type,” Greypaw agreed absently. His ears twitched as he instinctively looked around for his mother. He found her relaxing in the sun with a couple of other warriors, sharing tongues with Whitestorm. A thought struck him. “I wonder if Firepaw knew Frostfur’s kits last time?”

“He must have,” Ravenpaw murmured. “Wouldn’t he?”

Greypaw hummed in agreement, then blinked. If Whitestorm was here –

“Mouse dung!” he hissed. “I was supposed to talk to Sandpaw – quick, do you see her anywhere?”

Ravenpaw blinked up at him, startled. “I – um –”

Nerves made Greypaw fur fluff up. Hastily, he scanned the camp for Tigerclaw, fearing the worst (that he’d decided to do the same to her that he had to Firepaw), but to his relief, he spotted the massive warrior lounging in the shade, not far away from the medicine den.

Come to think of it, he’d spent a lot of time near the medicine den the past few days.

Greypaw shook himself. He could worry about that later – for now, he needed to find Sandpaw. If she wasn’t in camp, then...

He started for the entrance, already half-thinking of a reason to justify going out so close to sundown when Lionheart stopped him.

“Where are you going?” the golden warrior asked sternly, looking disapproving.

All of Greypaw’s excuses melted away like early morning dew. “I – um – I was going to go look for Sandpaw?”

“Sandpaw?” Lionheart tilted his head. “May I ask why?”

“It’s just –” Greypaw shuffled his paws, feeling a little embarrassed. “Well, Firepaw wanted to talk to here, and Whitestorm’s in camp, but I couldn’t find her, so –”

Lionheart, mercifully, cut him off with an approving purr. “I see,” he meowed. “Well, I believe Whitestorm sent her on a hunting assignment with Mousefur to oversee.”

“Mousefur?” Greypaw echoed. “But she’s _barely_ a warrior!”

“She’s seen three leaf-bares,” Lionheart reminded him. “She’s ready for an apprentice of her own and Frostfur’s litter will be ready to be apprenticed soon. I believe Whitestorm thought it would be good practice.”

“I suppose,” Greypaw conceded, looking back up at Lionheart. Suddenly, he _itched_ to confess everything – Firepaw’s sudden memory loss, his being sent back from the future, his suffering at Tigerclaw’s claws – all of it. And when he looked into Lionheart’s eyes, he almost imagined he could see the same longing reflected back at him.

The entrance to the camp rustled. Both cats looked over – it was Dustpaw, holding a mouthful of leaves. He paused, glancing between the two of them, before stepping around them and heading for the medicine den.

Greypaw turned back to the apprentice den, where Ravenpaw still sat and was now washing his paws clean. “I guess I’ll just talk to her when she gets back.”

“That would be best,” Lionheart agreed.

* * *

Redtail watched as Lionheart’s apprentice padded despondently back into camp. Lionheart watched him go for a moment, then returned to Redtail’s side, taking a bite out of the rabbit they were sharing.

“So,” Redtail meowed, more for curiosity’s sake than anything else, “what was that about?”

Lionheart frowned. “Apparently, Firepaw wants to speak to Sandpaw.”

Redtail blinked. “Sandpaw? Did he say why?”

Lionheart shook his head. “No. But if he’s told her the truth – assuming what he says _is_ the truth –”

Redtail was skeptical on that point. Bluestar had told him everything that had happened while his patrol was in the Twolegplace, searching for the rogues that had attacked Firepaw. But it was odd... the Twolegplace cats – rogues and kittypets alike – hadn’t known who Firepaw was (aside from a white-chested brown tabby who had called him ‘Rusty’), and the scents hadn’t matched the ones Redtail had found that night.

“– then perhaps, since Spottedleaf told us he’s losing his memories of the future, he’s hoping speaking to Sandpaw would bring them back,” Lionheart concluded. “Redtail?”

Redtail blinked. “What?”

Lionheart sighed. “I was saying –”

“No, I heard you,” Redtail assured him. “I was just... cloud-gathering. You think they knew each other?”

He knew it was a mouse-brained question as soon as he said it – Lionheart’s silent reproach thickened the air between them until the older warrior spoke again.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Lionheart meowed. “They’re roughly the same age, after all. They likely trained and patrolled together. I wouldn’t be entirely shocked if they became friendly.”

 _Friendly._ A little, incredulous thread wormed its way into Redtail’s thoughts. Spottedleaf had told them that Firepaw had mentioned having daughters in the future. What if – no. No, absolutely not. He wasn’t going to think about it.

In a desperate attempt for another topic of discussion, Redtail let his thoughts fly around in his head before seizing on a promising one. “Not to change the subject,” he said, lying, “but has Bluestar spoken to you about what happened with the rogues?”

Lionheart shook his head. “No. Why?”

Redtail glanced across camp to where Tigerclaw was stretched out in the sun. He ended up staring longer than he meant to, entranced by the ripple of muscles under Tigerclaw’s pelt as the massive tabby shifted in place, but tore his gaze back to Lionheart within (he thought) a reasonable amount of time.

Lionheart’s visible amusement disagreed with him, but Redtail elected to ignore that little fact.

“The only cat who recognized Firepaw in the Twolegplace was a pampered kittypet,” he meowed. “She called him ‘Rusty’ – I think they were littermates, actually.” When Lionheart didn’t speak, he continued. “That’s not to say there weren’t rogues in the Twolegplace – there always are – but from what we gathered they recently lost their leader. Hardly in a place to go attacking clan cats.”

“Perhaps they blame Firepaw for their leader’s death,” Lionheart suggested.

Redtail shook his head. “If that were true, they’d know his name. Besides,” he added – and this was really the most damning part – “when I was tracking Firepaw that night, I didn’t smell any rogues. Or any other clan scents. It was just ThunderClan.”

Lionheart’s eyes narrowed. “Which cats?”

“Firepaw, naturally.” Redtail glanced towards the medicine den again. “And Tigerclaw.”


	11. Chapter 11

Hunting with Mousefur was exhausting – the lean she-cat was a stern taskmaster. Sandpaw felt like her paws were about to fall off. But she held her tail high as she trotted into camp carrying her bounty – two mice and a squirrel, with Mousefur carrying the two birds she’d caught. Also dangling from her mouth was a small but fat rabbit – her prize catch of the day.

“Not bad,” Mousefur meowed as she tossed the birds onto the fresh-kill pile. “Pick something out and take a break. If the queens and elders haven’t been fed, do that first.”

Sandpaw dipped her head, hiding a groan. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into her nest and sleep until sunhigh tomorrow – but if the queens and elders needed feeding, then fine. It was part of her duties, after all.

She set her catches down on the pile, save for the squirrel she’d caught, and began to head towards the nursery, when she was cut off by a wall of grey tabby fur.

“Watch it!” she spat, nearly dropping her squirrel. “Greypaw, you mouse-brain –”

“Sorry,” Greypaw panted, shaking himself. “Firepaw –”

Sandpaw cut him off. “Is he alive?”

Greypaw blinked. “Um, yes –”

“Then I don’t care.” Fine, maybe Firepaw _was_ from the future – but that didn’t mean she had to like it. And he wasn’t exactly being helpful, lying around moaning in the medicine den.

“Wait!” Greypaw yelped. “He wants to talk to you.”

“That’s nice,” Sandpaw tried to step around Greypaw, but found him blocking her path once again. She hissed. “What is your _problem?_ I’m supposed to feed the queens!”

“I’ll do it,” Greypaw offered quickly. “Just – go talk to him? Please?”

Sandpaw paused. That… was an offer worth considering. And it would probably take less time to talk to Firepaw than to do her chores. “Elders too,” she meowed.

“Done,” Greypaw said immediately.

Sandpaw promptly dropped the squirrel at Greypaw feet and made a beeline for the medicine den. Greypaw mumbled something behind her. She ignored him completely – he’d made the bargain and now he was stuck with it.

She shouldered her way into the medicine den, padding over nest that was currently occupied by her ginger denmate. “Hey,” she meowed awkwardly.

Firepaw raised his head. Sandpaw was struck by how _frail_ he looked – she hadn’t actually seen him since he’d woken up half the camp with his yowling and been dragged off by Spottedleaf. He hardly looked like a warrior at all – or even an apprentice. More like a particularly scrawny squirrel.

“Sandpaw,” he rasped. “Did Greypaw find you?”

She flicked her tail. “He’s doing my chores to make up for it.”

Firepaw coughed. Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh. “Sounds about right.” He pulled his front legs underneath him and rested his paws on his chin. “I’ve told you about the future, right? The one I come from?”

Sandpaw nodded.

Firepaw hesitated. “This is going to be… awkward to admit, but since I’ve gotten sick… something has been blocking my memories.”

Sandpaw blinked. “… something. Blocking your memories.”

Firepaw sounded peeved. “Apparently.” He flicked his ear. “But I can’t remember details. Greypaw told me you had theories on where I came from, before you found out. I was hoping you might have some theories on the future?”

Theories on the future. Well, okay. This was… interesting. She settled back on her haunches and tipped her head sideways. “What kind of theories?”

“Anything.”

Well okay then. What had he told her? He’d spoken about Tigerclaw’s treachery (which she was pretty sold on, especially after he’d disappeared and come back… well, dead) and his time as leader (which she was convinced of). Actually getting sent back by StarClan was still a sticking point – she wasn’t totally convinced that her warrior ancestors hadn’t just tossed him down into the forest with a bunch of prophecies crammed into his head – and _why_ he’d kept his nine lives she didn’t even want to think about.

“Well,” she meowed slowly. “You talked about a lake a lot. Maybe you journey there at some point. Like a quest.”

“A quest,” Firepaw repeated. “I… maybe. It rings a bell, but I can’t remember any details.”

“Well, maybe it’s part of the reason you were sent back here,” Sandpaw offered, a little awkwardly. “Maybe you did it wrong.”

Firepaw laugh was interrupted by a coughing fit. “Well, I did something wrong, clearly. I –”

Whatever Firepaw had been about to say was lost in another fit of coughing that brought Spottedleaf sweeping over. Sandpaw was shooed out of the den as the pretty tortoiseshell medicine cat immediately began to fuss.

Sandpaw rolled her eyes as she looked around for Whitestorm. Maybe she should tell him – okay, not the _whole_ truth (or the truth as Firepaw presented it) but. Some of it. He would know what to do – he was good at knowing things like that.

She padded over to the nettle patch where the senior warriors usually ate their fresh-kill, but paused as she grew closer. Whitestorm wasn’t by the nettle patch - Lionheart and Redtail were there, deep in discussion, but it took her a moment of looking around before she saw Whitestorm speaking to Bluestar near the leader’s den. She padded towards them, only to freeze when she heard what they were talking about. 

“...worried about Firepaw,” Bluestar murmured. “I know Tigerclaw has his own biases regarding him, but what if he’s onto something? He’s been sick for days – even Spottedleaf doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. And Firepaw claims it’s StarClan’s doing.”

Sandpaw blinked. _StarClan’s_ doing? He’d made it sound like he had no idea what was causing it, and all this time it was StarClan? And he’d _known?_

Why would he lie about that?

“Firepaw claims it?” Whitestorm tilted his head. “I don’t know why he’d lie about something like that. If anything, I expect he’d try and cover it up.”

_He did! That sack of mouse-dung –_

“My thoughts exactly,” Bluestar meowed. Her voice lowered, and Sandpaw had to strain her ears to hear. “Of course... we have to have to consider the alternative.”

“That’s a serious accusation,” Whitestorm murmured back. “He has done nothing to harm the clan, Bluestar.”

“You’re right,” Bluestar agreed. “But nonetheless – if it is the Dark Forest who sent him, I want to be prepared.”

Whitestorm nodded. “Have you considered transferring his mentorship?” he said tentatively. “If you think he’s dangerous –”

“Then I will handle him myself,” Bluestar interrupted. “I won’t ask my warriors to deal with a threat I won’t face myself.”

Whitestorm dipped his head. “Of course, Bluestar.”

Sandpaw retreated hastily, before either her leader or her mentor could see her. Her mind was reeling – they thought Firepaw could be from the _Dark Forest?_ And – he’d lied about StarClan blocking his memories. Sandpaw didn’t believe he was from _the actual Dark Forest_ – it wasn’t like he’d done anything against the clan, after all. The most questionable thing he’d done was teach the apprentices how to fight after dark.

...and save the RiverClan deputy, but. Saving lives wasn’t a crime. 

Still, if he was lying about StarClan blocking his memories, what else was he lying about?

* * *

As the moon rose in the sky, Spottedleaf watched Bluestar disappear into her den, troubled.

Bluestar had always been prone to suspicion, but suspecting Firepaw to be an agent of the Dark Forest? That was a new level. She was relieved that Bluestar didn’t believe it wholeheartedly, but now that the idea was there...she feared what might happen if it took root.

 _Fire will save the clan,_ she’d reminded Bluestar, and Bluestar had bowed her head. _Of course,_ she’d murmured. _StarClan knows best._

Spottedleaf turned away from the entrance of the den. The camp had settled down, only Tigerclaw remained awake – guarding the camp until moonhigh, when Runningwind would take over the duty.

Firepaw slept in his nest. His looked relaxed, even peaceful, but Spottedleaf knew he could still wake up crying out for Pinestar – or, sometimes, a cat named Jake. 

She wondered who this Jake was and what he meant to Firepaw. Ah, well – mysteries for tomorrow, she supposed. For now, she could sleep, and pray to StarClan for guidance.

* * *

 

When she woke, she wasn’t in her den, but in the silvery forests of StarClan. “Featherwhisker?” she called. “Are you there?”

“Always.” Featherwhisker’s warm voice came from her left. She turned to see silver-grey pelt materializing out of the trees, his amber eyes warm. “You have an interesting patient, Spottedleaf.”

She huffed, tossing her head in frustration. “I know. I can’t even tell what’s wrong with him – I’m treating him the best I can, but nothing seems to help. He’s growing weaker and weaker and I can’t think of anything else to do.” She looked over at her old mentor. “Is he telling the truth? Is StarClan truly responsible for this?”

Featherwhisker grimaced. “I don’t agree with it,” he meowed. “But yes. The leaders have decided that his knowledge is not worth the impact it’s having on the other clans. Whitepaw of WindClan was killed by dogs. RiverClan lost two kits to flooding. We could have sent warnings to them if we had known. But with Firepaw here, we cannot see.”

“But it’s _not his fault,”_ she insisted. “You cannot punish him for trying to help!”

Featherwhisker sighed. “No,” he murmured. “I do not think we should. But he _is_ dangerous, even to ThunderClan, and the leaders have decided.”

Spottedleaf shook her head. “Dangerous? How could he be dangerous to _ThunderClan?”_

But Featherwhisker was already fading. “You will wake soon,” he called. “If you are willing to face an uncertain future – work quickly.”

Spottedleaf woke with a gasp, her mind reeling. An uncertain future – uncertain how? The future was always uncertain, what made _right now_ so special?

An urgent hiss from the shadows turned Spottedleaf’s head. She stumbled as she shot to her feet in shock – Firepaw lay in his nest, completely still except for the faint rise and fall of his ribs, and crouched over him was a massive starry warrior, his ears tattered and his reddish-brown fur scratched an unkempt. When he looked up, his green eyes bored into her soul.

 _Please,_ he meowed soundlessly. The word echoed in her head. _Please._

Slowly, Spottedleaf nodded.

The tom faded and Spottedleaf snapped awake.

* * *

Firepaw only had snatches of memory from the days that followed – Spottedleaf’s green eyes filled with worry, the tang of herbs, a fever so fierce his throat dried out and cracked like mud in a drought. His dreams blurred together with his waking hours – he saw Jake twice, licking his forehead to cool it; even Pinestar made an appearance, pacing the length between the pool in his clearing and the entrance of the ThunderClan medicine den.

Sandpaw didn’t visit – or if she did, Firepaw didn’t remember. Greypaw did, however – always with stories of training, or something the elders had said, or anything else. Firepaw couldn’t remember any of the details, but it was nice to hear his voice. He was vaguely surprised to see Redtail, but when he saw Pinestar looming over the deputy’s shoulder he figured he must be dreaming.

Right now, he was vaguely aware of Spottedleaf to his left, trying to coax yet more herbs into his mouth. Firepaw, though, didn’t have the strength to lift his head – much less eat anything.

Movement in the corner of the den caught his eye. His gaze darted towards it and his heart sank when he realized it was Pinestar, sitting solemnly as the stars in his fur winked in and out of existence.

The medicine den faded away. Spottedleaf’s voice died away to an echo.

Firestar was lying in Pinestar’s clearing.

“I lost another life,” he guessed. The words felt like fox teeth in his throat, but he managed them nonetheless.

“Not yet,” Pinestar told him. “But soon.”

“Why?” Firestar demanded. “What could StarClan find so thrice-damned important –”

“They’re not the ones responsible for this,” Pinestar said bluntly.

Firestar stared. “What?”

“I thought they were too,” Pinestar admitted. “They took most of what I remember as well, after all –”

“Of course they did,” Firestar muttered.

Pinestar snorted, but he sombered quickly. “They took our memories, yes, but they’re not the ones making you sick.”

“Then _what_ –”

“It’s you,” Pinestar said gently.

Firestar stared. “Are – are you honestly _blaming_ me for –”

“Of course not,” Pinestar snapped. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I _do_ care about what happens to you.”

“Sure,” Firestar growled. “That’s why you dragged me back here. What do you want?”

Pinestar’s eyes flashed angrily. “Well, I _thought_ I’d try to save your life, if that’s all right with you,” he bit back.

The two proud leaders – one dead, one dying – glared each other down.

* * *

Firepaw, much to the shock of everyone (although, admittedly, they were significantly less shocked than they would have been, say a moon ago), picked himself up after two days of unconsciousness and asked for water.

“Did you lose a life?” Greypaw asked urgently, blinking at Firepaw as he devoured the squirrel Greypaw had brought.

Firepaw paused. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I – I could be wrong, but I don’t think I did.”

“Well, I’m going to assume that you did,” Greypaw meowed. “Because you’re a mouse-brain and you’ll probably forget or something.”

Firepaw purred tiredly. “That’s a fair assessment,” he meowed. “Thanks, Greypaw.”

Spottedleaf insisted on keeping Firepaw for one more night, to ensure he wasn’t about to relapse, but at sunrise the next day he followed Bluestar on patrol. They were accompanied by Mousefur and Darkstripe, and the silence was only broken by the occasional attempt at an insult from the dark tabby tom who padded blindly after Tigerclaw.

(Firepaw wasn’t _that_ blind. He didn’t really see the appeal of Tigerclaw, but apparently Darkstripe did. He almost – almost – felt bad that Tigerclaw didn’t return the favor.)

(...actually, no he didn’t. Darkstripe was objectively awful.)

As the patrol neared Tallpines and the Twolegplace, Firepaw slowed down, frowning. There was something about this place – something ominous. Something from the future, lurking in the shadows here. His frown deepened as he remembered the lies he’d told in his first days at ThunderClan – the mentions of BloodClan, how certain he’d felt that BloodClan was a real thing –

“Firepaw! Keep up!”

Bluestar’s voice snapped Firepaw out of his daze. He grimaced at the oncoming headache (Pinestar _had_ warned him that trying to access the memories StarClan had taken would make him sick again) and bounded after the patrol, flicking his ears in embarrassment as he fell into step behind Bluestar.

Darkstripe sneered at him. “See someone you know, kittypet?”

Firepaw blinked back at him innocently. “No. Why, did you recognize someone?”

Darkstripe hissed.

Firepaw ignored him as the patrol drew to a close, cutting past Snakerocks on the way back to camp. He felt some of the tension he’d been carrying since the Twolegplace ease out of his shoulders as the strong scents of ThunderClan’s camp wafted towards them.

“Wait, Firepaw,” Bluestar called, motioning for Mousefur and Darkstripe to go on ahead. “Your training for the day is not over yet.”

Darkstripe sneered at Firepaw as he followed Mousefur into camp, already crowing about... something. Firepaw wasn’t exactly sure what there was to crow about, honestly. Patrol had (apart from his odd feeling about the Twolegplace) been largely uneventful.

Firepaw faced Bluestar. “What will we be doing for training?” he asked.

Bluestar waved her tail and he followed her away from camp – towards the training hollow, he realized. “I want to resume your battle training,” she meowed. “You need to get your strength back up after so long in the medicine den.” She paused, looking back at him with an unreadable expression. “How are you feeling? Have your memories returned?”

“Much better,” Firepaw said. “I’m afraid my memories haven’t come back yet, though.”

Bluestar hummed. “You mentioned StarClan was blocking your memories,” she said, continuing on towards the training hollow. “Do you know why?”

Firepaw missed a step on the trail and stumbled, muffling a curse behind his teeth. Bluestar’s ears twitched, but she didn’t stop. _Didn’t I tell you this already?_ It felt like he’d said it a hundred times.

Little alarms began to ring in the back of Firepaw’s head and he narrowed his eyes. Something was going on here. This wasn’t mentorly concern – this was something else.

“No,” he lied, uneasiness settling like a heavy weight across his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Bluestar asked him no more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exhausted so please forgive any typos - this chapter is shorter than my usual fare, I don't have much time to write this week. I'm visiting family.


	12. Chapter 12

Tigerclaw ground his teeth as stared across the den at Bluestar, cool and unflappable in her nest.

“Fire will save the clan,” she reminded him, parroting that thrice-cursed prophecy. “Are you doubting StarClan’s word?”

“Of course not,” Tigerclaw lied smoothly. “But I don’t suppose they thought to mention _which_ clan?”

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“Whitestorm told you that Firepaw came from a – _clan_ in the Twolegplace, did he not?” Tigerclaw couldn’t keep the distaste off his tongue. No proper clan would choose to live in the filth of the Twolegplace. “BloodClan, he called it. And didn’t Redtail’s report make mention of them? They seem to be in dire straits. Their leader is dead, and a tyrant rises in her place.”

Understanding dawned on Bluestar’s face. “You believe the sign was intended for this BloodClan.”

Tigerclaw didn’t particularly care one way or another, but he nodded. “It’s certainly worth considering.” Better to let Bluestar feel as though she’d reached the conclusion on her own – that way, Tigerclaw could be held blameless when Firepaw was finally exiled. (Or killed, but exile was less...messy.)

Bluestar looked troubled by the notion. “I will have to think on it. Thank you, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw dipped his head, recognizing the dismissal, and exited the den.

He glanced around camp as he emerged, spotting Redtail and Lionheart deep in conversation. They had been spending an increasing amount of time together over the few days – ever since Firepaw had taken a turn for the worst, as a matter of fact. When Tigerclaw had first noticed, he’d been worried that the pang in his belly was _jealousy_ – he liked Redtail well enough, but he didn’t think the relationship was worth getting _jealous_ over. His main motivation for courting the ThunderClan deputy had been to take over the position himself (one way or another). _Jealousy_ didn’t really factor into the plan – or at least, it shouldn’t.

Besides, it wasn’t like Lionheart preferred the company of toms. He had kits, for StarClan’s sake – although so did Redtail; when Sandpaw’s mother had expressed a desire for kits but been unwilling to take a mate, Redtail had sired them for her.

 _Either way,_ upon further inspection, however, the pang in his belly was caused not by jealousy, but by suspicion. Lionheart had taken to lingering at the corner of Tigerclaw’s sight ever since he’d started keeping Redtail’s company. Both toms greeted him coolly – Redtail less so, however; sometimes Tigerclaw would catch him staring admiringly across the clearing.

It was flattering, but also exasperating. With Lionheart in the picture and the added complication of Firepaw’s knowledge, Tigerclaw was less interested in winning back Redtail’s trust and more interested in ruining his credibility in Bluestar’s eyes.

 _How_ to go about doing so – that was another matter. Some kind of lover’s spat, perhaps, to convince Bluestar that Redtail’s opinions were irrevocably biased against Tigerclaw, that Tigerclaw was only trying to be _objective_ , to help the clan –

He was distracted by movement at the entrance of the nursery. As he looked over, he saw Firepaw emerging from the den with Frostfur’s kits at her heels and Frostfur herself watching him warmly. While Firepaw gently disentangled himself from the kits, Tigerclaw spied Swiftkit bounding out of the nursery with Goldenflower’s voice trailing behind him.

...Goldenflower. 

Hm.

* * *

 

Firepaw glanced over his shoulder at Tigerclaw, who was speaking with Goldenflower, as Bluestar led him out of camp.

It was time for his first solo hunting assessment, according to Bluestar. He had a vague idea that he’d done this before, but (naturally) he couldn’t remember anything about it. Even focusing on the impression the memory had left made his head begin to ache and he forced himself to focus on the world around him.

Early morning sunlight streamed through the trees, which were now flush and full with bright green leaves and plentiful branches. Greenleaf had taken a firm hold on the forest, but the persistent headache made Firepaw suspect it wouldn’t last.

“I must return to lead the border patrol,” Bluestar meowed, “but I expect you will not disappoint me. Catch as much as you can between now and sunhigh. You may cover the entire territory.”

Firepaw dipped his head, bounding off into the undergrowth at Bluestar’s dismissal. He headed first for the stream along the RiverClan border – the voles and mice that made their burrows in the mud would be emerging into the warm sunlight about now and he expected they would be easy pickings.

He slowed as he neared the banks, pausing to sniff the earth and the cold, blind things that moved within it. A Twoleg had been here recently – more than one, if he had to guess – but they were no longer nearby. He was vaguely surprised at the lack of fox smell and then blinked, wondering why that was.

The persistent headache increased pointedly and Firepaw shook himself, forcing thoughts of absent smells from his mind and dropping into a hunting crouch as he filtered through the smells of the riverbank and the forest to catch the scent of water vole.

He followed his nose closer to the riverbank, where he spotted the plump brown body of his quarry darting back and forth as it harvested grass stalks. Slowly, Firepaw stalked forward, the tall grass of the banks tickling his belly fur as he slunk forward like a snake. Another moment...

There was a rustle in the ferns behind him. Firepaw launched himself forwards as the water vole darted for the safety of a fallen tree trunk, his claws snagging in the creature’s fur – but it disappeared into the dark hole with only a scratch.

Hackles rising, Firepaw turned around. Whoever – or _whatever_ – had ruined his first attempted catch of the day needed to pay.

He tasted the air. It was definitely a who – and a ThunderClan who, at that. His first instinct was _Tigerclaw –_ the feeling of thorn-sharp claws cutting through his fur was unlikely to leave him any time soon – but then sense reasserted itself. This cat was young – Firepaw’s age, at most – and far less skilled at silent moving than the terrifying tabby warrior.

Firepaw sniffed the air again and sighed. “Greypaw, you stalk like a lopsided badger.”

An offended yelp came from the undergrowth as Greypaw emerged. “Lopsided badger! That was my best stealth crouch!”

Firepaw snorted. “No wonder you can only catch hoary old squirrels. They’re the only ones deaf enough to not hear you coming!” Amusement softened his words. “Well, that and the one-winged thrushes.”

Greypaw hissed playfully. “I’ll show _you_ lopsided –”

Firepaw ducked out from under Greypaw’s leap but caught a hefty blow to the head that left him seeing stars. He huffed, shaking his to clear it, before lashing out at Greypaw with a quick flurry of strikes.

Greypaw yelped, beating a hasty retreat before suddenly switching tactics and bowling Firepaw over with his superior strength, pinning him to the ground. Firepaw put up a token resistance before allowing himself to go limp.

“You give up to easily!” Greypaw crowed, loosening his grip. As he did so, Firepaw sprang to his feet, throwing Greypaw into the undergrowth with a yelp of surprise.

Within a heartbeat, Firepaw was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. “‘Surprise is the warrior’s greatest weapons,’” he meowed, quoting one of Lionheart’s favorite phrases before stepping down and letting Greypaw to his feet.

Greypaw seemed unbothered by the defeat as he shook out his fur. “So, how’re you getting on with your task?”

Firepaw’s nose twitched. “I was doing fine until you came along,” he meowed. “You scared off my vole with your noisy trampling.”

Greypaw’s eyes went wide with contrition. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize –”

Firepaw waved off his apologies. “It’s fine. I’ll find more.” He tilted his head. “What are you doing out here already? The day’s barely started.”

“It’s started for you,” Greypaw pointed out. “Redtail wanted me to take a message to the border patrol. They should be near the WindClan border by now –”

Firepaw _mrrowed_ in exasperation. “Well? Get going then! You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Greypaw shrugged. “It wasn’t urgent. Besides, the WindClan hunting grounds aren’t too far from here. And I should help you make up for the vole you lost.”

“What you _should_ do is follow orders,” Firepaw said dryly. “Go on. You don’t want to keep Bluestar waiting.”

Greypaw wavered visibly, but eventually he caved in and sighed. “I supposed you’re right,” he meowed reluctantly. “Still, if I see any prey I’ll be sure to catch it for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Firepaw meowed without any heat. “It’s my first solo assignment. I’m going to do it _properly.”_ He waved his tail towards the WindClan border. “Well? Shoo!”

“You must have been insufferable as leader,” Greypaw mumbled, but he darted off in the direction of the patrol.

Firepaw sighed fondly as he watched his friend’s bushy grey tail disappear into the undergrowth. He continued hunting along the riverbank, making short work of a mouse and a thrush before scenting another water vole. This time, without the interference of his friend, he caught and killed it neatly, burying it neatly next to the rest of his catches.

A flash of movement caught his eye and he whipped around to see a squirrel scuttling down a nearby tree. Immediately, Firepaw took off after it, racing over the springy woodland ground – only to skid to a halt as his quarry scampered up a slender birch, far too flimsy for Firepaw to climb after it. Even if it weren’t, no cat could beat a squirrel up a tree. They were just too fast.

Spitting in disappointment, Firepaw glanced around, taking stock of where he’d ended up. The acrid scent of the Thunderpath hit his nose and he hissed reflexively, hackles rising. He hadn’t realized he’d ventured so close to the ShadowClan border.

Cautiously, drawn by some unknown instinct (but one that made his head pound) he stepped out of cover onto the border of oily grass that lay between the trees and the Thunderpath. The smell made his throat itch.

He peered into the trees on the other side, searching for – something. He wasn’t sure what – but was that a pair of eyes he saw on the other side, looking back at him?

It didn’t matter, not really – as long as they both stayed on their side of the Thunderpath, everything would be fine. If they were a spy for Brokenstar – well, there wasn’t much they could learn about ThunderClan from the other side of the Thunderpath.

Firepaw turned around, tail twitching with nerves, and hurried back into the cover of the trees. He could have sworn he felt the stranger cat’s eyes burning into him as he retreated.

He began to head back towards the stream, planning on resuming his hunting there – the area was plentiful, especially in Greenleaf, and he expected that he’d be able to produce a decent haul to show to Bluestar come sunhigh.

A shift in the wind brought a strange scent across his nose. Firepaw bristled – _ShadowClan scent – a she-cat, not young, tired, hungry, sick, foul mood_ –

– and with a lightning-fast movement, the growing sense of familiarity was shattered by a snarling ball of fur slamming into him, fastening her fangs into the back of his neck as thorn-sharp claws sank into his shoulders.

Firepaw’s screech of pain and fear was entirely genuine as, for a heartbeat, he was thrown back to a bloody, pain-filled night where his only company had been a massive tabby killer.

“Ah, a puny apprentice. Easy prey for Yellowfang!”

Firepaw’s instinctive offense at _puny apprentice_ was washed away by the red-hot spike of pain that slammed into his skull at the name _Yellowfang._

 _I know you,_ he realized. _I knew you._

He struggled to shrug off the memories as the she-cat – Yellowfang – pinned him to the ground. Her teeth pricked into the skin of his neck once more and he _twisted,_ kicking out with his powerful hind legs and sending Yellowfang flying backwards into a gorse bush.

“Not such easy prey,” Firepaw growled, leaping to his feet.

Yellowfang spat defiantly as she tore herself free of the gorse bush. Despite himself, Firepaw couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for her when he saw how disheveled she looked. Her dark grey fur was matted into smelly clumps and her round orange eyes held far more pain than just physical. She was _grieving,_ Firepaw realized with a start. What was she grieving?

_Her kit._

The voice in Firepaw’s ear didn’t sound like Pinestar, but it carried a heavy weight of sorrow and guilt that made him hesitate.

There was something happening here. Something he didn’t understand – something he _needed_ to understand, that StarClan wouldn’t _let him_ understand –

Yellowfang threw herself at Firepaw once again, sensing his indecision. He barely dodged out of the way in time, her huge jaws closing with a _snap_ on the still-warm air where his muzzle used to be. He lashed out with a backswipe, catching Yellowfang about the head and sending her stumbling sideways, shaking her head.

In the single heartbeat before the she-cat recovered, Firepaw saw his chance. He threw himself forward, crouching low, and clamped his jaws tight on Yellowfang’s back leg. The she-cat’s matted fur tasted like crowfood, but he hung on determinedly, biting down as hard as he could.

Yellowfang screeched in pain and outrage, whipping around to snap at Firepaw’s tail. Pain lanced up Firepaw’s spine as her teeth made contact. Anger surged through him – he was a warrior of ThunderClan, a _leader,_ not some troublesome kit to be tossed about –

Yellowfang wrenched herself sideways and Firepaw lost his grip on her leg. The pair sprang apart and began circling each other warily, trading hisses and snarls.

It was Firepaw who broke the standoff, lashing out as Yellowfang with claws extended. She yowled in pain – unable to duck quickly enough, Firepaw’s blow had shredded her ear. She flung herself at him; Firepaw rolled with the momentum and they tumbled into a flurry of blows and snarls until they broke apart mere moments later, both panting for breath.

“Had enough?” Firepaw hissed at her. He was tiring fast, but he could sense that Yellowfang was tiring faster – her injured leg was trembling violently, and her flanks heaved with each inhale.

“Never!” Yellowfang spat back, but moments later her injured leg finally gave way, sending her tumbling to the ground.

Firepaw watched, the pity he’d felt earlier returning to the forefront, as Yellowfang tried to rise to her feet and failed, slumping down into the dirt with dull eyes. “If I weren’t so hungry and tired, I’d have shredded you into mouse-dust.” The she-cat’s mouth twisted in pain and defiance. “Finish me off. I won’t stop you.”

“I don’t think so,” Firepaw meowed, because first of all she was surrendering and second of all he _wanted to know who she was._ But by the smell of her, she wouldn’t see moonhigh without something to eat.

With a resigned groan usually reserved for older siblings and the mentors of cocky apprentices, Firepaw took a step back. “Wait here,” he meowed.

“Are you kidding?” Yellowfang demanded, her hackled smoothing out as she deflated. “I’m going nowhere.” She grunted as she limped towards a soft patch of heather and began licking her wounded leg.

Muttering several dire curses against StarClan in general and Sunstar in particular – he had been a leader of _ThunderClan,_ why couldn’t he see that Firepaw was trying to _help_ – Firepaw turned and padded into the forest, scenting the air to seek out fresh-kill for the starving warrior he’d left in his wake. Sun-warmed odors filled his nose as he moved silently through the ferns – a dead and rotting rat, insects under the tree bark, a nest of mice underground.

He was considering returning to the stream and digging up one of his previous kills when the scent of rabbit caught his attention. Instinctively, he dropped into a hunter’s crouch and glanced around for the source of the warm, meaty smell. He spotted the rabbit a tail-length-and-a-half away and moved forward carefully, winding his way behind it to keep the wind from carrying his scent to the rabbit’s sensitive nose.

The rabbit never saw him coming. He pounced on it and finished it off with an economical flick of his claws before picking up the fresh-kill in his jaws.

Yellowfang looked up tiredly as he approached. “Well, hello again, little apprentice! I thought you’d gone to fetch your little warrior friends.”

“That comes later.” Firepaw meowed dryly, shoving the rabbit towards her with his nose. “Look, if you don’t want this…”

“Ah – no,” Yellowfang meowed hastily. “I do want it.”

Firepaw watched the she-cat rip open the prey and start to swallow it down, washing the blood from his muzzle as he did so. “When you’ve finished, I’m bringing you to camp,” he told her. “Bluestar can decide what to do with you.”

Yellowfang paused. “Well, that’s a fairer hearing than I expected,” she muttered. Firepaw couldn’t tell if he was meant to hear that or not and elected not to respond.

As Yellowfang finished the rabbit, Firepaw sniffed the air, his hackles rising briefly before he identified the new cat-scents the wind had brought. Bluestar and Greypaw were the most easily identifiable, followed by Tigerclaw and Darkstripe and –

The last one took him a moment. _Willowpelt._ That was it.

He threw his head back and _yowled_.

Yellowfang hissed in alarm as the alert snapped through the air, rattling between the trees and definitely scaring off all the prey in the area. “So long,” she spat, rising to her feet and trying to limp away on three legs. _“Nn-uh –_ blasted leg’s stiffened up –”

It was too late for her to run. Firepaw waited calmly as the border patrol slipped out of the shadows of the forest. It was the same cats that Firepaw had scented – Bluestar and Tigerclaw, followed closely by Darkstripe and less so by Willowpelt, with Greypaw trailing behind, his eyes wide.

Firepaw meowed a greeting, only to find that Greypaw was the only one to return it.

“Silence!” Tigerclaw hissed furiously.

Despite the fear-scent that was rolling off her in waves, Yellowfang spat angrily in response to Tigerclaw’s demand. Firepaw felt himself warming to her already.

“Firepaw?” Bluestar’s question was cool and measured. “What have we here? An enemy warrior – and recently fed, by the smell of you both.” Her eyes burned into him, and Firepaw raised his chin, determined to hold his ground.

“She was starving,” he meowed. “I doubt she’d have made it to sundown without food.” That was a _slight_ exaggeration but considering the other lies he’d told to his clan in the past few moons, it barely even registered on his radar.

“And what about you?” Bluestar asked. “Was your hunger so bad that you had to feed yourself before you had gathered prey for your Clan?”

Firepaw bristled in indignation. “I haven’t taken a bite!” he snapped. “I hunted as I was ordered and fed a starving old cat. I thought warriors were supposed to show _mercy_ to a defeated enemy?”

“Feeding our foes is not _mercy,”_ Tigerclaw growled.

Bluestar ignored them both and looked to Yellowfang. She blinked, and Firepaw could smell the sharp spike of surprise. “Well, well, Firepaw! It seems you have captured us a ShadowClan cat. And one I know well. You are ShadowClan’s medicine cat, aren’t you?” she meowed to Yellowfang. “What are you doing so far into ThunderClan territory?”

“I was the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now I choose to travel alone,” hissed Yellowfang.

Firepaw blinked. The ShadowClan medicine cat? Did that mean ShadowClan could no longer treat it’s injured? Perhaps Brokenstar’s brutal training methods extended to other aspects of life as well – perhaps he believed that no cat who was injured in battle should seek help during recovery. It sounded like a Brokenstar thing to do.

“Yellowfang!” Tigerclaw sneered. “It looks like you have fallen on hard times if you can be beaten by an apprentice!”

Yellowfang hissed at him in response, her tail lashing, but wisely made no threat.

Then Darkstripe spoke. “This old cat is no use to us. Let’s kill her now. As for this _kittypet_ , he has broken the warrior code by feeding an enemy warrior. He should be punished.”

“Keep your claws in, Darkstripe,” Bluestar meowed reproachfully. “All the Clans speak of Yellowfang’s bravery and wisdom.” She nodded decisively. “We’ll take her back to camp. Can you walk?” she asked Yellowfang. “Or do you need help?”

“I’ve still got three good legs,” the Yellowfang snapped, limping forward determinedly. Her eyes were glazed with pain, but her gait was steady (or as steady as it could be) and she hissed when Willowpelt offered her shoulder.

A look of respect flicker across Bluestar’s face before she turned and led the way through the trees. The other warriors took up positions on either side of Yellowfang, and the patrol moved off, carefully keeping pace with their lame prisoner.

Greypaw fell back to walk behind Firepaw, but Firepaw was too lost in thought to carry on a proper conversation.

* * *

 

As the patrol passed the sentries, the rumor of Yellowfang’s capture spread like wildfire, reaching the camp before Bluestar had ever stepped foot back inside. Jeers echoed around the camp as the patrol padded towards Highrock. With every step, Firepaw could see Yellowfang growing more and more tense – from nerves or anger or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. Yellowfang was a confusing jumble of smells that shifted and changed with each breath.

Bluestar nodded to the dusty earth in front of Highrock and Yellowfang sank down gratefully in front of it, beginning to lick her wounded leg. Spottedleaf appeared at the front of the crowd and made her way towards Yellowfang, only to be stopped cold with a hiss.

“I know how to take care of my own wounds,” Yellowfang spat. “I don’t need _your_ help.”

Spottedleaf dipped her head respectfully and stepped back but remained nearby.

“What was _that_ about?” Greypaw muttered. “You’d think she’d be grateful for a little help!”

“Too proud, I expect,” Firepaw murmured back.

Greypaw just grunted.

At that moment, Bluestar broke off her conference with the senior warriors and padded towards the fresh-kill pile, selecting a juicy-looking wood pigeon.

Firepaw longed to take a piece for himself and satisfy his rumbling belly, but he had a sneaking suspicion that feeding Yellowfang would result in him forfeiting his share. Finally, though, hunger – and Greypaw and Ravenpaw’s own approaches – drove him forward, only to find Tigerclaw standing in his way.

Trying to ignore how his heart skipped a beat in his chest, Firepaw met Tigerclaw’s harsh gaze and refused to flinch.

“Not you,” Tigerclaw growled. “You didn’t bring back any prey. Take your share to the queens.”

Resisting the urge to inform Tigerclaw that he’d caught _plenty,_ thank you, it just happened to be buried near the RiverClan border, Firepaw dipped his head stiffly and stepped around Tigerclaw to pick up a pair of mice. He padded towards the nursery, irritation and nerves in equal measure making his fur prickle.

Goldenflower meowed her thanks as he set one of the mice down in front of her. “Were you injured in the fight with Yellowfang?” she meowed, her gaze traveling over Firepaw’s pelt.

Firepaw shrugged demurely. “Not badly. Just a few scratches.”

Frostfur spoke up. “You should have Spottedleaf look at them anyway,” she meowed. “Can’t have one of ThunderClan’s most promising apprentices dying of infection, can we?”

Firepaw purred in embarrassment, beating a hasty exit from the nursery just as Bluestar called a clan meeting. _“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey come forth for a Clan meeting!”_

Firepaw approached the Highrock with some trepidation, taking a seat next to Greypaw and Ravenpaw.

“Has Bluestar mentioned your punishment yet?” Greypaw murmured.

Firepaw shook his head. Greypaw was in the middle of sympathetic noises when Bluestar began to speak.

“I’m sure you have all heard about the prisoner we brought back with us today,” Bluestar began, “but there is something else that requires your attention.” She glanced down at Yellowfang, still lying at the base of the Highrock. “Can you hear me from there?”

“I may be old, but I’m not deaf yet!” Yellowfang spat back.

Bluestar continued as if the exchange had never happened. “I’m afraid I have some very grave news. Today I traveled with a patrol into WindClan territory. The air was filled with the scent of ShadowClan. Many of the trees had been sprayed by ShadowClan warriors. And we met no WindClan cats until we had nearly reached their camp.”

 “Do you mean ShadowClan has invaded WindClan’s territory?” called Smallear hesitantly. “Do they mean to occupy it?”

Bluestar dipped her head. “This is what the WindClan warriors we met told us. They have lost nearly half their territory to ShadowClan and believe Brokenstar to be massing for a second attack against them.”

Shocked yowls rose from the clan in fits and starts. Several cats turned towards Yellowfang with hisses and bared teeth. The ragged old medicine cat met each challenge with a snarl and unsheathed claws.

“How could WindClan be driven out?” One-eye called, her creaky voice cutting through the din. “ShadowClan may be fierce, but WindClan is many – and they have lived in the uplands for generations.” She shook her head, her whiskers trembling.

Bluestar shook her head. “I don’t know the answers to any of your questions.”

“Perhaps Yellowfang does!” Darkstripe yowled. “After all, she is of ShadowClan!”

“I am no traitor! Nothing would make me share the secrets of ShadowClan with a brute like you!” snarled Yellowfang, rising to her feet to meet Darkstripe’s unsheathed claws.

“Enough!” Bluestar yowled.

Darkstripe immediately halted in his tracks, even though Yellowfang goaded him on with blazing eyes and a ferocious hiss.

“This situation is too serious for us to be fighting among ourselves,” Bluestar continued. “ThunderClan must prepare itself. From this moonrise onward, warriors will travel in larger groups. Other Clan members will remain close to the camp. Patrols will travel the boundary edges more frequently, and all the kits must stay in the nursery.”

The cats below her nodded in agreement.

Bluestar continued. “Our need for warriors is our greatest obstacle. We shall get around this by speeding up the training of our apprentices. They need to be ready even sooner to fight for our Clan.”

Firepaw glanced nervously down the line at his fellow apprentices, wishing desperately that he had his memories back so he could continue their training. As he did so, he noticed a flash of apprehension on Yellowfang’s face.

Bluestar wasn’t finished, however. “Yellowfang will be allowed to stay here until she has recovered her strength. We are warriors, not savages. She is to be treated with respect and courtesy.”

Darkstripe’s voice rose in a whine. “But the Clan cannot support Yellowfang,” he protested. “We have too many mouths to feed already.”

Firepaw’s lip curled. “And some are bigger than others,” he snapped back. Darkstripe whipped around to face him, eyes blazing, and was met with Firepaw’s furious gaze.

“I don’t need anyone to care for me!” spat Yellowfang. “And I’ll split open anyone who tries!”

“Friendly, isn’t she?” Graypaw murmured.

Not far away, Dustpaw snorted.

“We shall kill two prey with one blow, as it were,” Bluestar meowed, her gaze pinning Firepaw in place. “Firepaw, as punishment for breaking the warrior code, it will be your responsibility to care for Yellowfang. You will hunt for her and tend her wounds. You will fetch fresh bedding and clear away her dirt.”

Firepaw sighed. Strangely, he didn’t feel terribly put-upon at the declaration. Perhaps this was another thing that had happened last time. “Yes, Bluestar.”

A mocking yowl rang out at the declaration. “I hope he’s good at cracking fleas!” Longtail sneered.

Bluestar ignored him with supreme disdain. “The meeting is over. I would like to speak to my senior warriors alone now.” With that, she jumped down from the Highrock and marched toward her den.

Redtail followed her, alongside Lionheart and Tigerclaw. Whitestorm hung back, as if uncertain, but followed after only a moment of hesitation.

Firepaw rose to his feet, intending to see to Yellowfang, but he was cut off by Longtail’s sneering muzzle. He did a lot of sneering, Firepaw realized. Well, I hope you’ll think twice about bringing strays back into the camp next time,” he jeered. “Like I said, outsiders always bring trouble.”

Firepaw regarded him coldly. “Not just outsiders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - a good chunk of dialogue here is from _Into the Wild_ chapters 6-8. This is one of those fixed events that doesn't change much, so I hope you'll all forgive me. I promise things will go back to their regularly scheduled chaos soon.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - credit to _Into the Wild_ for a little bit of the lines. This is a super short chapter because I've been super busy and didn't start writing until like 3am so please be kind to my inevitable typos.

Caring for Yellowfang was rather like caring for an angry fox. She and Firepaw traded spitting words for three days straight as Firepaw brought her fresh-kill, changed her bedding, and did his very best to get rid of the tick colony that had made its home in Yellowfang’s fur.

It was  _ disgusting. _ Firepaw informed her as much.

Despite the constant snapping, Firepaw felt himself warming quickly to the old she-cat. In between barbed insults, there were quieter, more serious words exchanged. Firepaw apparently had  _ spirit _ (he’d tried desperately to keep himself from laughing at that one – she really had no idea) and bad things happened to kits when she was around. At least, according to Yellowfang. Both of those conversations had felt frustratingly familiar, but he held his tongue.

The third night after Yellowfang’s arrival, Firepaw dreamed.

Pinestar was waiting for him in his clearing, looking somewhere between smug and triumphant.

“No Jake?” Firestar asked, by way of greeting.

Pinestar flicked his tail in annoyance. “That’s all you have to say to me? I have  _ good news, _ you know. Also, a greeting would be polite.”

“Hello,” Firestar said. “No Jake?”

Pinestar sighed. “No Jake,” he meowed. “He spends most of his time with WindClan these days. They’re still in their camp,” he added, “but they’ve lost access to most of their territory. ShadowClan essentially has them pinned in.”

Firestar shuddered at the thought. “Brokenstar, I assume.”

Pinestar sighed. “Who else? Tigerclaw hasn’t left ThunderClan territory since the last Gathering.” His frown deepened. “Speaking of Tigerclaw, I’d keep an eye on Redtail and Lionheart if I were you. They’re plotting something, but I can’t tell what.”

Firestar hesitated, flipping through a few scenarios in his head. There was one guaranteed way to get into Redtail’s immediate good graces – to tell the truth of what had happened the night he’d gone missing – but with his memories gone, he wasn’t sure it was worth the risk. Still… he might not have a choice. He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Was that the good news?”

Pinestar shook his head. “Hardly.” The massive leader sounded downright  _ gleeful. _ “Apparently, StarClan – or someone in StarClan – has been speaking to their prophets, trying to find a workaround for our memories that won’t block off their own foresight.

Firestar blinked. “I – wait, really?”

Pinestar nodded. “They think we should have our memories back by within a half-moon."

Firestar nodded slowly, processing the information. Half a moon – half a moon and there would be no more headaches, no more frustrating echoes in the back of his mind. He could focus all his energy on protecting ThunderClan from Brokenstar and Tigerclaw’s machinations. But until then –

Speak to Redtail, one way or another – and try and figure out what, exactly, the situation with this ‘BloodClan’ was.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. That’s –”

Pinestar seemed to understand. He touched Firestar’s shoulder with the tip of his tail. “We’ll be all right,” he meowed. “Take care of yourself, or Jake will have my fur.”

Firestar snorted as the clearing faded from view.

He woke up as Firepaw, feeling small and gawky in his paws as he picked himself up and slipped out of the den, tail flicking from side to side in contemplation. He scanned the camp, searching for any sign of Redtail. He perked up when he saw the slight-framed deputy sitting near the High Rock, deep in conversation with Lionheart, and was about to head over to him when he saw Tigerclaw emerging from Bluestar’s den. He backtracked hastily, turning his paws towards Yellowfang and keeping Tigerclaw in the corner of his eye.

Yellowfang, who was already awake and watching him with bright orange eyes, noticed. “Don’t like that one, do you,” she rasped.

Firepaw glanced at her. Some part of him wanted to confide in her – the part that listened to the bone-deep ache in his skull – but she was still of ShadowClan. If he was going to talk to anyone, he needed to talk to Redtail.

“We have our issues,” he meowed eventually. “He’s a difficult cat to like.”

Yellowfang snorted, laying her head back down on her paws. “You’re not prone to overstating things, are you kitty?”

Firepaw bit back a sigh. Yellowfang had unearthed his kittypet heritage and hadn’t stopped calling him  _ kitty _ since. And every time she did, he got a headache. “Not as a rule, no. Do you need anything, Yellowfang?”

Yellowfang grunted. “Mouse bile. I have a whole family of ticks at the base of my tail.”

Firepaw dipped his head, suppressing a shudder, and padded over to Spottedleaf’s den in search of Yellowfang’s mouse bile.

As he headed towards the fern tunnel, cats crossed the clearing around him, carrying sticks and twigs in their teeth. The camp had woken up while he was speaking to Yellowfang. It had been like this everyday since Bluestar had announced WindClan’s disappearance. The queens were weaving twigs and leaves into a dense green wall around the sides of the nursery, making sure that the narrow entrance was the only way in and out of the bramble patch. Other cats were working at the edges of the camp, filling in any spaces in the thick undergrowth.

Even the elders were busy, scraping out a hole in the ground. Warriors filed steadily past, piling pieces of fresh-kill beside them, ready to be stored inside the newly dug hole. There was an air of quiet concentration, a determination to make the Clan as secure and well supplied as possible.

If ShadowClan made a move on their territory, ThunderClan would shelter inside the camp. WindClan hadn’t been driven from their home, and neither would ThunderClan.

Darkstripe, Longtail, Willowpelt, and Dustpaw were waiting silently at the camp entrance. Firepaw passed near them on his way to Spottedleaf’s den, exchanging a nod with Dustpaw – and stopping dead in his tracks because  _ he was  _ such  _ a mouse-brain. _

Dustpaw was Redtail’s apprentice. If he wanted to talk to Redtail –

He couldn’t say anything now, because Darkstripe and Longtail were standing right there, but he and Dustpaw shared a den – it would be simplicity itself to catch a moment alone.

First, though, he needed to get the mouse-bile for Yellowfang.

Shaking his head, Firepaw pulled himself forward into the medicine den, Darkstripe’s mocking jeer on his heels. He rolled his eyes as he ducked inside. “Spottedleaf? Can I have some mouse-bile for Yellowfang’s ticks?”

“In a moment,” replied Spottedleaf, pawing two piles of herbs together and mixing the fragrant heap with one delicately extended claw.

“Busy?” Firepaw asked, settling down on a warm patch of earth.

“I want to be prepared for any casualties,” Spottedleaf murmured as she finished, rising to her paws. “What is it you wanted? Mouse bile?”

Firepaw dipped his head. “Please.”

Spottedleaf’s whiskers twitched. “That’s the happiest I’ve ever seen a cat to pick up mouse bile.” She bounded into her den and brought something out. She held it gingerly in her mouth. It was a small wad of moss dangling on the end of a thin strip of bark. She passed it to Firepaw, who accepted it with a grateful purr. He was in high spirits now that he had concrete, actionable plans – vague threats always made him paranoid and off-kilter, but having a plan? There was life in his paws once again. He was no longer going through the motions.

* * *

Firepaw sighed in relief as he dipped his paws into the stream, licking at his ruffled fur. Yellowfang’s ticks had been successfully vanquished and Firepaw was now washing the evidence off of his paws before he went hunting. Halftail had instructed him not to come back to camp without prey, which worked out well – he’d intended to bring back food for Yellowfang anyway.

“Firepaw!” Greypaw yowled. “What are you doing in the  _ water?” _

Firepaw purred, bounding up the bank to greet his friends – Ravenpaw had appeared at Greypaw’s flank, his eyes darting from side to side as if he were expecting a ShadowClan warrior to jump out at him from behind every bush.

Then again, Firepaw had run into Yellowfang not far from here, so perhaps his fears weren’t entirely unfounded.

“Mouse bile,” Firepaw explained, shaking himself dry. “Don’t ask. What are you two doing here?”

Greypaw shrugged. “Lionheart and Tigerclaw went on patrol. We’re supposed to spend the rest of the day hunting.”

Firepaw flicked his tail. “Halftail said the same thing to me,” he meowed. “But I’m hoping to get back before Tigerclaw does. I want to talk to Redtail.” Or, he supposed, perhaps Lionheart – the golden warrior also seemed to be in Bluestar’s confidence, and judging by the amount of time Redtail was spending with him… either they were starting to become an item, or they were plotting something. Or trying to unravel  _ other _ cats’ plots.

He hoped it was the latter. He’d been blindsided by a few too many relationships within the last couple of moons.

Greypaw’s ears pricked up. “What about Lionheart?” he meowed hopefully, confirming Firepaw’s idea. “I bet he could help too.”

Firepaw nodded. “Probably,” he agreed. “But first we have to catch some prey.”

* * *

When Firepaw came back, he was greeted with high tails and a few friendly nuzzles. He brought most of the fresh-kill to the stores that were being dug, exchanging a few friendly words with Halftail before bringing a squirrel over to Yellowfang.

“I brought you food,” he meowed, dropping it in front of her.

“Yes, I can see that,” she meowed dryly. She sniffed it suspiciously and Firepaw rolled her eyes.

“If I was going to feed you deathberries, I wouldn’t do it right next to Bluestar’s den,” he meowed.

Yellowfang grunted, but took a bite out of the squirrel and chewed. “Not bad,” she meowed. “For a kittypet.”

“Not bad for a warrior, you mean,” Firepaw responded tartly. “If there’s nothing else, I have other duties to attend to.”

Yellowfang waved him off with her tail. “Go on,” she rasped. “If I need anything else – you’ll know!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Firepaw replied, bounding over to where Redtail was speaking to the elders. He waited politely as Redtail and Smallear discussed the stores and how much fresh-kill they could hold, trying not to fidget or look towards the camp entrance for fear he’d jinx himself and Tigerclaw would come strolling in.

When Redtail stepped back and turned away, he found Firepaw standing in front of him.

“I need to talk to you,” Firepaw said quietly. “About – about that night. Not now,” he added hastily, seeing a look of consternation flicker across Redtail’s face. “But – soon.”

Redtail, to his credit, didn’t ask questions. He just nodded. “I’ll make time after sundown,” he meowed. “Are you comfortable talking to Lionheart as well?”

Firepaw hesitated, but only for a moment. Apparently, he’d been right about Lionheart being a co-conspirator (or a co-anti-conspirator?) of Redtail’s. “Yes,” he meowed. “Yes, that’s okay.”

Redtail nodded. Sympathy washed over his face and he touched his tail-tip to Firepaw’s shoulder. “Thank you for speaking on it.”

Firepaw dipped his head in embarrassment and headed for the camp walls. He had to do  _ something _ until sundown after all.

* * *

 

Firepaw worked long past sundown on reinforcing the camp walls, making excuse after excuse to keep working until Redtail and Lionheart padded up.

“Good work,” Redtail remarked, before lowering his voice. “So. Without preamble, what happened?”

Firepaw took a deep breath. The words themselves were surprisingly hard to say – but they needed to be said. He couldn’t sit on this any longer – Pinestar’s revelation had put fire back in his bones and he was determined to regain the drive to change things that he’d had when he’d first arrived. “Tigerclaw happened.”

Redtail and Lionheart exchanged a look. Firepaw noted that they didn’t look  _ shocked _ – horrified, disgusted, yes, but not shocked. “You… already knew?”

“Not for sure,” Redtail murmured. “But I suspected. His was the only scent on you after he brought you back, and no one in the Twolegplace knew who you were.”

Firepaw snorted softly. “Yeah, I know. I heard all about it.”

Redtail looked fond at the indirect mention of his apprentice. “Of course you did.” He glanced over to the leader’s den. “Will you tell Bluestar?”

Firepaw hesitated. Something niggled at the back of his mind – a reason to keep his mouth shut – but he ignored it, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I can.”

Redtail nodded. “All right,” he murmured. “Then we’ll confront her with the evidence tomorrow, all right? First thing in the morning.”

Firepaw nodded. “First thing in the morning,” he echoed.


	14. Chapter 14

Tigerclaw waited until Redtail’s breathing slowed and deepened; then, once he was sure the deputy – and Lionheart, curled up nearby – was asleep, he rose silently to his paws and slipped out of the den.

He glanced towards the apprentice den, checking for any hint of ginger fur or any hint of green eyes, and saw nothing. Satisfied, he slid from the shadows of the warrior’s den and made a beeline for the den where Bluestar slept at the base of Highrock. He stopped at the curtain of lichen, considering – nobody had _seen_ him. He could just slip inside and slash her throat and be gone before anyone was any wiser.

But he had no idea how many lives she had left, and even if she only had one life left – Redtail was still her deputy, despite Tigerclaw’s best efforts. And a ThunderClan under Redstar would only make Tigerclaw’s problems _worse._

So, he cleared his throat. “Bluestar? Are you awake?”

Inside the den, he heard rustling as – presumably – Bluestar shifted her weight in her nest. “Tigerclaw?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. “Is something wrong?”

Tigerclaw hesitated just enough to sound embarrassed. “I’m sorry to come to you so late,” he meowed. “But I didn’t want to interrupt preparations and it’s...a bit of a sensitive matter.”

Silence from the den. Then –

“Come in, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw pushed through the lichen curtain and into the leader’s den. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his head respectfully.

“Of course,” Bluestar murmured. “I am here for my clan.” Her whiskers twitched. “No matter the time of day. Or night.”

Tigerclaw purred apologetically. “As I said, it’s a sensitive matter. It’s about Firepaw.”

Immediately, Bluestar was more awake. “Firepaw? What about him?”

“I’m sure you remember the night he went missing,” Tigerclaw meowed, sitting down in the entrance to the den. “I noticed something when I was bringing him back to camp, but I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain.”

Bluestar sat up. “What did you notice?”

Tigerclaw took a deep breath. “There was the rogue scent, but it wasn’t the only scent I found on Firepaw. I also...”

Bluestar frowned. “Wait. What other scents did you find?”

Tigerclaw blinked. “I – er –”

This was, of course, the main information he wanted to reveal, but it was better if Bluestar thought it was her idea to make him tell her.

“Tigerclaw,” Bluestar said sternly. “Tell me.”

Tigerclaw dropped his head. “I smelled Lionheart,” he lied. “Under the smell of the rogues, and on Firepaw’s pelt.”

Bluestar frowned. “I didn’t smell anything of Lionheart when you brought him back.”

Tigerclaw grimaced. “Did you check? Or did you only get close after he woke up? After his denmates had been sharing tongues with him for half the night?”

It was a gamble, but an educated one. He’d been sitting there the entire time, after all, waiting on tenterhooks to make sure Firepaw wouldn’t wake back up. He’d thought the event at Sunningrocks was a fluke, that _surely_ StarClan wouldn’t have given this kittypet _kitten_ nine lives – but he’d had to see for himself.

And he had. Thankfully, he’d had the foresight to orchestrate a patsy for Firepaw’s murder. All that was left was to convince Bluestar of Lionheart and Redtail’s guilt (it was admirable, really, how far Redtail was willing to go to eliminate any potential threats to the clan, and Tigerclaw would be happy that Lionheart was so _devoted_ to him if it hadn’t come to this).

Judging by the troubled look on Bluestar’s face, he was dealing with the fallout admirably. “This is a serious accusation,” she meowed. “You understand, Tigerclaw, that I cannot take solely your word on this?”

Tigerclaw nodded. “Of course, Bluestar,” he meowed smoothly. She wouldn’t need to. Darkstripe had seen Lionheart sneaking out of camp shortly after Redtail had left to look for the missing apprentices – which Tigerclaw had alerted him to, not that he knew it. It had been a simple matter to direct Bluestar’s attention to Sandpaw’s clumsy attempts to sneak out of camp.

“Thank you, Tigerclaw.” Bluestar lowered herself back into her nest. “Rest assured, I will think on what you’ve told me.”

Tigerclaw bowed his head and made to leave the den, then stopped as if something occurred to him. “There’s...something else,” he meowed hesitantly. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but… I saw Redtail and Lionheart speaking to Firepaw at the end of the day, and they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but Firepaw looked frightened when they confronted him.”

Bluestar’s gaze snapped up to meet Tigerclaw’s. “What are you saying?” she asked slowly.

Tigerclaw hesitated. “I don’t want to make assumptions –”

“Make assumptions,” Bluestar ordered. “I want to hear your thoughts. All of them.”

Tigerclaw didn’t trust himself to speak without giving away his glee. He dropped his head under the pretense of collecting his thoughts and allowed himself a tiny smile. When he raised his head again, his face was impassive. “I think,” he said slowly, “that Redtail is extremely devoted to ThunderClan, as a deputy. I think he would do whatever it took to eliminate something, or… someone that he saw as a threat to the clan.” He watched as Bluestar’s eyes began to narrow. “And I think… I think that Lionheart is far enough gone for Redtail that he’ll do whatever Redtail asks of him. And I think that they’re wanting to cover their tracks and keep Firepaw from speaking out.”

 _He’s just an apprentice, after all,_ he left unsaid, _and a kittypet at that._

Bluestar seemed to hear it without Tigerclaw needing to say it, which was, frankly, ideal. “I see,” she said slowly. “You’ve done a lot of thinking on this. Thank you, Tigerclaw. You may go.”

Tigerclaw bowed his head and left the den, unable to keep the triumph out of his eyes.

All that was left now was Firepaw.

He headed back towards the warrior’s den but paused as he saw a pair of warm yellow eyes gazing at him. With a purr, he changed course to the nursery, greeting a slightly sleepy-looking Goldenflower by touching her nose with his own.

“Hello there,” she murmured, licking his cheek. “What are you so happy about?”

Tigerclaw considered his answer for a moment. “I think I’ve done a good thing tonight,” he told her, curling up at her side.

“Just tonight?” Goldenflower asked cheekily.

Tigerclaw flicked her ear with his tail playfully and she purred.

Burrowed against the fluff of Goldenflower’s belly fur, Swiftkit blinked open his eyes and looked around. He brightened when he saw Tigerclaw, struggling to his feet and yawning blearily. “Whuzzgoinon? Is ShadowClan attacking?”

Tigerclaw purred – he didn’t even have to force it, this time. Swiftkit was a fierce young cat – he’d be a fine warrior someday, Tigerclaw was sure of it. “Nothing so exciting,” he said. “Look at the size of you. How many moons are you now? It must be six, surely.”

“Two more days!” Swiftkit puffed himself up. “Then I can be an apprentice with _Sandpaw_ ‘n _Dustpaw_ ‘n _Firepaw_ –”

Tigerclaw huffed at the mention of Firepaw, but luckily Swiftkit didn’t seem to notice. Goldenflower did, however, and her brow furrowed.

“– ‘n _Ravenpaw_ ‘n _Greypaw_ ‘n –” Swiftkit abruptly realized that he’d run out of apprentices and shut his jaws with a _snap._

Tigerclaw smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be the best apprentice of them all.”

Swiftkit nodded vigorously. “I will!” he promised, bounding around Tigerclaw’s massive paws fearlessly, curling up against his broad shoulder. “I wish you were my _real_ father,” he mumbled. “Not fussy old Patchpelt.”

“Swiftkit!” Goldenflower scolded.

Tigerclaw licked the kit’s head reassuringly. “You can think of me as such,” he told him, “if it helps.” Tigerclaw, of all cats, knew the pain of an embarrassing father.

Swiftkit beamed up at him.

“But for now,” Tigerclaw continued sternly, “I believe you’re supposed to be asleep.”

Swiftkit looked like he wanted to argue, but Goldenflower ushered him back into the nest and waited until he dozed off to sleep.

“Kits,” Tigerclaw meowed.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Goldenflower scolded. “You haven’t been stuck in the nursery for six moons.”

Tigerclaw purred. “Quite true. Speaking of… would you like to go for another walk?”

* * *

Firepaw jumped awake as Lionheart prodded his ribs. “Firepaw. It’s time to talk to Bluestar.”

Immediately, Firepaw scrambled to his feet, giving himself a quick groom so he didn’t look like he’d just rolled out of a bramble patch. “Redtail?”

“Speaking to her already,” Lionheart told him. “Come on.”

Firepaw followed on Lionheart’s heels out of the den and across camp to where Redtail and Bluestar were exchanging heated whispers. As they got closer, Firepaw could make out what they were saying – and it made his heart sink.

“– not the _time,_ Redtail,” Bluestar said testily.

“It’s _important,”_ Redtail insisted. “Bluestar, you know me. You know I wouldn’t push on this if it wasn’t.”

“Enough,” Bluestar snapped. “We have enough to do preparing for the Gathering. If you have concerns, bring them to me after the Gathering.”

“I –” Redtail faltered under Bluestar’s frosty glare. “Very well. I’ll speak to you then.”

Bluestar nodded curtly and stepped away, heading towards the warrior’s den, glancing at Lionheart and Firepaw as she passed. Firepaw’s attention was distracted by Redtail padding over to them, frustration rolling off him in waves.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmured. “She won’t speak to me now. She’s insisting we wait until after the Gathering.”

Lionheart rumbled unhappily. “Then we’ll have to,” he said resignedly. “There’s no use in pushing the issue further.”

Redtail huffed. “You’re telling me,” he muttered. He turned to Firepaw. “I’ll find you after the Gathering. See to your duties.”

Firepaw nodded and split off from the two warriors, padding over to Yellowfang’s nest.

The thin drizzle of the previous night had soaked through the treetops and dripped down into camp, causing an uncomfortable night even for Firepaw, who had been tucked safely into the apprentice’s den.

Yellowfang stirred as he approached. “My bones ache this morning. Has it been raining all night?”

“Since just after moonhigh,” Firepaw replied, remembering being woken up by a steady drip from the branches above the apprentice’s den. He reached out and prodded her mossy nest cautiously. “Your bedding is soaking wet. Why don’t you move nearer to the nursery? It’s more sheltered there.”

Yellowfang hissed. “What? And be kept awake all night by those mewling kits! I’d rather get wet!”

Firepaw watched her circle stiffly on her mossy bed. “Then at least have some dry bedding,” he said, keen to drop the subject of kits if it upset the old she-cat so much.

“Thank you, Firepaw,” replied Yellowfang quietly, settling down again.

Firepaw blinked. “Are you feeling all right?”

Yellowfang snorted. “Don’t ask foolish questions. And don’t just stand there like a startled squirrel – go fetch some moss!”

Firepaw almost purred – _that_ was more like Yellowfang. He nodded and sprinted off.

He almost crashed into Speckletail in the middle of the clearing. Yellowfang had snapped at her kit the other day, he recalled. What was the kit’s name – Mistkit? No – Mistlekit, that was it.

“Sorry, Speckletail,” Firepaw mewed. “Do you need something?”

“Actually, yes,” Speckletail meowed. “Bluestar wants to see you.”

Firepaw’s heart soared – maybe she’d changed her mind about hearing out Redtail and Lionheart! He hurried toward the Highrock and Bluestar’s den, frowning as he saw Whitestorm and Redtail leaving the camp with Sandpaw and Dustpaw. Perhaps she wanted to talk to him alone?

Bluestar was sitting outside, her head bobbing rhythmically as she licked the gray fur below her throat. She paused when she noticed Firepaw. “How is Yellowfang today?” she meowed.

“Her bedding is wet, so I was going to fetch her more,” Firepaw replied.

Bluestar shook her head dismissively. “I’ll ask one of the queens to see to that.” She eyed Firepaw carefully. “Is she fit enough to hunt for herself yet?”

Firepaw tilted his head as he considered the question. “I don’t think so,” he meowed, “but she can walk well enough now.”

“I see,” meowed Bluestar. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “It is time for you to return to your training. You’ll be going out with Tigerclaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw this morning,” Bluestar continued. “ I’ve asked Tigerclaw to assess the warrior skills of all our apprentices. Don’t worry about Yellowfang; I’ll make sure someone sees to her while you are gone.”

Firepaw hesitated. “With… Tigerclaw?”

Bluestar regarded him curiously. “Yes, with Tigerclaw. Is something wrong?”

For a moment, Firepaw considered spilling everything that had happened to Bluestar then and there. But he had to assume that Redtail and Lionheart had a plan, that there was a reason they hadn’t come to Bluestar earlier. Instead, he dipped his head. “I’ll join the others.”

Graypaw and Ravenpaw were both waiting for him by their favorite tree stump. Graypaw looked stiff and uncomfortable, his long fur clumped by the dampness of the air, while Ravenpaw was pacing around the tree stump, lost in thought, the white tip of his tail twitching.

“So, you’re joining us today!” Graypaw called as Firepaw approached. “Some day, huh?” He shook himself roughly to get rid of the clinging wetness, sending a thick mist into the air.

Firepaw purred. “Some day,” he agreed. “Yellowfang’s bedding was soaked – I don’t envy whoever has to replace her bedding!”

“Come on! We should get going,” urged Ravenpaw. He had stopped pacing and now hovered beside them anxiously.

“Fine by me,” meowed Graypaw. “Hopefully some exercise will warm me up a bit!”

The three cats trotted through the gorse track and out of the camp. They hurried to the sandy hollow. Tigerclaw had not arrived, so they hung around in the shelter of a pine tree, their fur fluffed up against the chill.

“Ravenpaw,” Firepaw called over. “Are you okay?”

Ravenpaw glanced around nervously, stepping closer to Firepaw after scenting the air. “I think Tigerclaw’s planning something,” he murmured. “I saw him visiting Bluestar’s den last night.”

Firepaw frowned. “Did you see anything else?”

Ravenpaw shook his head. Before Firepaw could press him further, Tigerclaw slid out of the foliage and any chance of conversation was over.

Tigerclaw greeted them briskly and launched straight into the exercise details. “Your mentors have spent the last few weeks trying to teach you how to hunt decently,” he meowed. “Today you’ll have a chance to show me how much you have learned. Each of you will take a different route and hunt as much prey as possible. Whatever you catch will be added to the supplies in the camp.”

A quick glance revealed that Ravenpaw was practically twitching with nerves and that Greypaw looked oddly focused. As for Firepaw himself – his stomach was twisting itself up in knots, not at the challenge itself, but at the idea of being alone in the forest with Tigerclaw stalking him.

Again.

“Greypaw, you will take the route along the stream, as far as the Thunderpath,” Tigerclaw ordered.

“Great,” Greypaw muttered. “Wet paws for me.” Tigerclaw’s stare silenced him.

“Ravenpaw,” Tigerclaw continued, “You shall take the route through the Tallpines, past the Treecut place, to the woods beyond.”

Ravenpaw nodded jerkily.

“And Firepaw.” Tigerclaw turned to face him and Firepaw felt his fur ripple uneasily. “you will follow the trail beyond the Great Sycamore as far as Snakerocks.”

A chill ran through Firepaw’s marrow. _Snakerocks._ Was Tigerclaw trying to get him killed?

...well, yes. Yes, he was. Firepaw had rather empirical proof of that, actually. He swallowed and nodded.

“And remember,” Tigerclaw finished, fixing them all with his pale-eyed stare, “I shall be watching all of you.”

Ravenpaw darted off as soon as Tigerclaw had finished speaking.

“Good luck,” Greypaw told Firepaw fervently. “Snakerocks is _crawling_ with adders. You’ll have to spend your entire time trying not to get bitten.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Firepaw said dryly, trying to sound surer of himself than he felt. “Good luck to you too.”

Greypaw shook his head. “Don’t wish _me_ good luck, keep it for yourself!”

With that cheerful greeting, they split off in different directions, following the route that Tigerclaw had prescribed to them.

As Firepaw followed the trail towards the Grey Sycamore, a movement caught his eye – a mouse, scrabbling through the fallen leaves. Dropping into a hunter’s crouch, he stalked forward silently before pouncing on the unsuspecting creature, dispatching with a swift bite to the back of the neck.

He buried his prize and continued on, pausing to lap from a rainwater puddle on the edge of Snakerocks before leaping cautiously onto one of the boulders, crouching on the cool stone as he scanned the area for any signs of prey – or of adders.

Hunting was sparse here, but Firepaw made a few good catches – two mice, one too fat to get out of the way in time and the other wholly unaware of its dangers; and a thrush that had been entirely enthralled by a collection of seeds on the ground. He buried his catches near the mouse and turned back towards the Snakerocks in search of more prey when he felt a looming presence at his shoulder.

Slowly, he turned around to find none other than Tigerclaw.

“You’ve been hunting well so far,” Tigerclaw said neutrally, examining his claws.

“Thank you,” Firepaw meowed, at a loss for what else to say.

“Amazing, isn’t it,” Tigerclaw continued, as if Firepaw hadn’t spoken. “How quickly a life can be snuffed out.” He dropped his paw back to the ground and stared directly into Firepaw’s eyes. “If you breathe a word of what really happened that night, you will have a great deal of company in StarClan.”

Firepaw dropped his gaze, shrinking in on himself. He didn’t have to fake the tremble in his voice. “Of course, Tigerclaw,” he whispered. “Not a word.”

When he looked up, Tigerclaw was gone. He looked around, scented the air for any hint of where the massive tabby warrior had gone, but found nothing.

* * *

Ravenpaw gaped at Firepaw as he trotted back to the training hollow, his head held high – partly out of pride, and partly to keep the massive adder he was carrying from tangling itself around his paws.

“You _caught_ that?” he squeaked.

“I caught it,” Firepaw purred, depositing the scaley menace at Ravenpaw’s feet. “And that’s not all!”

A rustle in the grass made them both look over to where Greypaw emerged, holding a squirrel between his teeth. He spat it out, complaining about hairs in his teeth, and promptly stopped dead, staring at Firepaw.

“What in _StarClan’s name?!”_ he demanded with a shriek.

Tigerclaw growled.

* * *

Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw entered the camp, strolling behind Tigerclaw. Their impressive day’s catch hung from their mouths, although Ravenpaw kept tripping over his dead snake. As they emerged from the gorse into the camp, a group of young kits scrambled out of the nursery to watch them pass.

“Isn’t that the weirdo? Firepaw?” one of them whispered.

“Yeah! Look at his orange fur!”

“They say he’s a good hunter. He looks a bit like Lionheart – d’you think he’s as good as him?”

“No way! Nobody’s as good as Lionheart!”

“He caught an adder!”

Firepaw puffed up a little at the kit’s comments, depositing the adder on a nearby stump for the sole purpose of scaring the next cats to come into camp.

“I wonder if you can eat those?” Greypaw muttered, eyeing the snake speculatively.

Firepaw smacked him over the head with his tail. “Trust you to think of your stomach! I wouldn’t try it if I were you, it probably tastes worse than Yellowfang’s ticks.”

Ravenpaw purred with amusement at the horrified look on Greypaw’s face. “Do you know who’s going to the Gathering?” he meowed, looking inquisitively at Firepaw.

Firepaw shook his head. “I have no idea,” he confessed. “Maybe one of us – Sandpaw and Dustpaw have been twice already.”

“They’re still the eldest apprentices though,” Greypaw pointed out as they deposited their catches on the fresh-kill pile and took some food for themselves. “And this Gathering is important. ShadowClan’s invaded WindClan and this Gathering is the first time that all the clans will be together since then.”

“You are correct.”

Firepaw jumped as Bluestar spoke from behind him. He sat up in alarm, self-consciously licking flecks of chaffinch off his muzzle. “Bluestar!”

“Firepaw,” Bluestar returned. “I simply came to inform you that Tigerclaw tells me you hunted well, and that the three of you will be accompanying the clan to the Gathering. Congratulations.”

Greypaw yowled in delight as Bluestar took her leave. “Can you imagine the look on Sandpaw and Dustpaw’s faces?” he hissed, tail waving in delight. _“Please_ let me be the one to tell them –”

“Be nice,” Firepaw meowed reproachfully, hiding a smirk of his own.

Greypaw rolled his eyes but subsided with a grumble of ‘wet nester’.

However, within moments they were all talking again, alternating wildly between hunting stories and speculating on the events of the Gathering. Firepaw’s fur prickled with excitement every time it was brought up. He was going to a Gathering – a Gathering he _understood!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tigerclaw to Goldenflower - u want sum fuk
> 
> Disclaimer - credit to _Into the Wild_ chapters 10-11 for some of the lines (particularly pertaining to Yellowfang and parts of the hunting assessment).


	15. Chapter 15

The beats of the Gathering fell easily into place, slotting into Firepaw’s memories as if they’d never left. It was both worrying and reassuring to find that the future had not been altered to the point where he could no longer recognize it. Still, the sense of déjà vu was not exactly pleasant – it left him feeling feverish and with a pounding headache, barely able to concentrate on what Brokenstar was saying. He was demanding hunting rights from the other Clans, threatening to invade their territories as he’d done to WindClan.

WindClan, who had been – not driven out, but penned in like Twoleg pets, crowded back against the far borders of their territory. The realization was like a breath of fresh air, and he thought he heard a sigh of relief in his ear – but when he turned, it was only Greypaw, staring worriedly at the Great Rock.

“Crookedstar’s giving up hunting rights to ShadowClan?” he whispered. “There’s no way. RiverClan is still strong –”

“Shh!” Ravenpaw hissed from Greypaw’s other side. “We’re at a Gathering still! Other clans can  _ hear you!” _

Greypaw snapped his muzzle shut.

“And what of ThunderClan?” Smallear croaked. “Bluestar? Have you, too, agreed to this outrageous demand?”

Bluestar met the old cat’s gaze. “I have made no agreement with Brokenstar except that I shall discuss his proposal with my Clan after the Gathering.”

Greypaw let out a breath. “Well, at least there’s that.”

Ravenpaw meowed in agreement.

Brokenstar spoke up again, his arrogant tones rolling across the clearing. “I also bring news that is important to the safety of your kits. A ShadowClan cat has turned rogue and spurned the warrior code. We chased her out of our camp, but we do not know where she is now. She looks like a mangy old creature, but she has a bite like TigerClan.”

Murmurs swept through the ThunderClan cats, a few of them turning to look at Firepaw. Brokenstar noticed, his gaze fixing on Firepaw before he spoke, his eyes narrowing speculatively. “She is dangerous. I warn you – do not offer shelter to her. And –” Brokenstar paused dramatically, “– until she is caught and killed, I urge you to keep a close eye on your kits.”

Firepaw bristled. “As if  _ ShadowClan _ isn’t the real risk to kits,” he hissed to Greypaw, who lashed his tail in agreement.

“You remember that?” Greypaw asked in an undertone.

“I remember telling Sandpaw about it,” Firepaw whispered back, shooting a glare back at Brokenstar, who was still staring directly at Firepaw.

“Brokenstar,” Bluestar snapped. “If you’ve nothing more to say –”

Brokenstar tossed his head. “Hardly,” he scoffed. “This Gathering is over. ShadowClan! We return home.”

As he bounded down from the Great Rock, the ShadowClan cats began to push their way through the assembled cats, heading back to the marshlands of their territory.

“What now?” Ravenpaw hissed, gaze swinging wildly between Greypaw and Firepaw. “If he’s talking about –”

“Do you know any other ShadowClan exiles?” Greypaw hissed.

Firepaw didn’t answer. He was too busy listening to the increasing snarls and mutters of ThunderClan. Tigerclaw and Darkstripe were the loudest, of course, but he was surprised to hear Speckletail’s voice joining them. Then he realized that of  _ course _ a threat to the kits – real or otherwise – would have the old queen up in arms.

“Firepaw –”

“I have to warn Yellowfang,” Firepaw murmured, turning back to Ravenpaw and Greypaw. “They’ll –”

“I’ll go,” Ravenpaw volunteered immediately.

Firepaw blinked. “I can’t ask you to –”

“I’m volunteering,” Ravenpaw told him, sounding very scared and very determined. “I’m better at sneaking around then you, and Tigerclaw will have an eye out for you, and Redtail and Lionheart and probably Bluestar. Nobody will even look for me.”

“Ravenpaw, you can’t –” Greypaw protested.

Ravenpaw slapped his tail over Greypaw’s mouth and stared at Firepaw beseechingly.   


“I can do it,” he promised.

Firepaw shook his head. “Will she even listen to you?”

“She might,” Ravenpaw said hopefully. “Especially if I tell her you sent me.”

Nerves twisting in his stomach, Firepaw nodded. “Go,” he meowed. “And be careful.”

* * *

Ravenpaw bolted from the Gathering, slithering up the bank like an adder and rushing through the trees. There were two things he knew he could do, and do well – move quickly, and move quietly – and tonight he was doing both.

He was panting by the time he reached the edge of the ravine. He stopped, scenting the air – he was still alone – before descending into camp and slinking over to where Yellowfang made her nest. The old medicine cat was fast asleep, her nose tucked under one foreleg. Ravenpaw wrinkled his nest as he got close – Firepaw hadn’t been exaggerating when he complained about her smell.

“Yellowfang!” he hissed. “Wake up! Firepaw sent me – it’s important.”

Yellowfang’s eyes blinked open. “I wasn’t sleeping,” she meowed, raising her head. She sniffed. “Tcch. You came from the Gathering?”

Ravenpaw nodded.

“And Firepaw sent you,” Yellowfang mused. “Brokenstar must have kept his promise. What did he say about me? That I am a monster, a slayer of kits?”

Ravenpaw blinked, staring at the old medicine cat who seemed to know more than he did. “Um –”

Yellowfang grunted, dropping her head back onto her paws. “I know the truth, and so does StarClan. That will have to do.”

“You don’t understand,” Ravenpaw meowed, distressed. “Tigerclaw and Darkstripe – they’re coming for you –”

“Tigerclaw!” Yellowfang spat. “If only he had as much sense as his claws are long!”

The yowls of angry cats could be heard in the distance – Ravenpaw glanced nervously over his shoulder. “You should go,” he meowed. “They’re coming –”

Yellowfang rose to her feet. “I will not run,” she meowed. “I trust Bluestar to give me a fair hearing. But, one thing, apprentice – why did you warn me?”

Ravenpaw hesitated. “Firepaw wanted to,” he whispered. “But – he would have been missed.”

“Ah,” Yellowfang mused. “For Firepaw, then.”

Rustling in the undergrowth, just past the camp boundary, signaled the imminent arrival of the Gathering party. Yellowfang flicked her tail. “Rejoin your companions,” she meowed. “I am not going anywhere.”

Ravenpaw backed away, before the  _ snap _ of a branch made him jump. He rushed to the side, out of view, just as the Gathering cats – led by Bluestar, with Redtail and Tigerclaw at her side – burst into the camp. Frostfur rushed to the nursery as soon as she squeezed past Lionheart’s broad shoulders, rushing to the nursery with Firepaw on her heels, his green eyes flicking anxiously around camp.

Ravenpaw bounded over to join him immediately. “She won’t leave,” he hissed, lashing his tail. “She says she trusts Bluestar to give her a fair trial – but –”

“It’s okay, Ravenpaw,” Firepaw meowed immediately, resting his tail on Ravenpaw’s shoulder. “You did your best.”

Ravenpaw nodded gratefully.

The rest of the clan had awoken, streaming out of their dens to join the others in the center of camp. “What happened?” called one voice, and Ravenpaw recognized it as Runningwind.

“ShadowClan has demanded hunting rights in our territory!” Longtail yowled, his voice full of outrage.

“And he warned of a rogue who would harm our kits!” Willowpelt added. “It must be Yellowfang –”

“It could be anyone!” Firepaw called out, despite Ravenpaw’s frantic hiss to keep quiet. “Yellowfang was sleeping when we arrived, and the kits are unhurt –”

“How do you know?” Darkstripe challenged, taking a pace forward.

Firepaw’s lip curled as he faced the dark warrior. “Use your head, Darkstripe,” he snapped. “Can you smell any blood in camp? Brindleface and Goldenflower were in the nursery the entire time – do you think any cat could have gotten past them?”

“But how do you know what Yellowfang was doing?!” Longtail shouted. “Unless you rushed ahead to warn her!”

Ravenpaw startled. Firepaw snorted. “Her nest is right out in the open, mouse-brain!” he yowled back. “I shredded your ear, not your head!”

Any retort from either Longtail or Darkstripe was drowned out by a yowl from Bluestar.  _ “Silence!” _

Instinctively, the clan settled, turning to the High Rock where Bluestar was standing, staring down at the clan with hard blue eyes.

A loud screech made every cat turn their head toward the fallen tree where the elders slept. Tigerclaw was dragging Yellowfang roughly from her nest. She shrieked furiously as he hauled her into the clearing and dumped her in front of the Highrock.

Firepaw hissed, but Greypaw nudged him sharply. “Wait,” he hissed. “Let Bluestar handle this.”

Firepaw nodded grudgingly. Ravenpaw couldn’t help but be relieved – listening to Firepaw trade insults with grown warriors was bad enough, but an actual fight? Ravenpaw didn’t think he could take it.

“What is going on?” demanded Bluestar, jumping down from the Highrock and glaring at Tigerclaw. “I gave no order to attack our prisoner.”

Tigerclaw dropped Yellowfang to the ground, where she crouched, hissing and spitting. “We may have returned in time  _ now,” _ he growled, “but who’s to say we won’t be too late next time? We must throw her out – or kill her now!”

Bluestar fixed her piercing blue eyes on Tigerclaw’s stormy face. “And what has she done?” she asked with icy calm.

Ravenpaw held his breath. Next to him, Firepaw was bristling, but merifully he stayed quiet.   


Darkstripe spoke up first. “You were at the Gathering! Brokenstar said she –”

“Brokenstar said only that there is a rogue somewhere in the woods,” Bluestar interrupted, her tone dangerous, holding the same calm as the sky before a storm. “He did not mention Yellowfang by name. The kits are safe. For as long as she is in my Clan, Yellowfang will not be harmed in any way.”

Bluestar’s words were met with silence, and Firepaw heaved a sigh of relief as Tigerclaw took a reluctant step back, his eyes downcast to avoid meeting the intensity of Bluestar’s gaze.

Yellowfang rose to her feet, bowing her head to Bluestar respectfully. “I will leave now, if you wish it, Bluestar.”

Bluestar shook her head. “There is no need,” she replied. “You have done nothing wrong. You will be safe here.”

The ThunderClan leader lifted her gaze to the crowd of cats that surrounded Yellowfang and meowed, “It is time we discussed the real threat to our Clan: Brokenstar. We have already begun to prepare for an attack by ShadowClan,” Bluestar began. “We’ll carry on with those preparations, and patrol our borders more frequently. WindClan has gone. RiverClan has given hunting rights to ShadowClan warriors. ThunderClanstands alone against Brokenstar.” A murmur of defiance rippled through the cats, and Firepaw felt his fur prickle with anticipation.

“Then we’re not going to agree to Brokenstar’s demands?” meowed Tigerclaw.

“Clans have never shared hunting rights before,” Bluestar answered. “They have always managed to support themselves in their own territories. There is no reason why this should change.”

Tigerclaw nodded approvingly.

“But can we defend ourselves against a ShadowClan attack?” asked Smallear’s tremulous voice.“WindClan didn’t manage it! RiverClan won’t even try!”

Bluestar met the old elder’s gaze. “We are not WindClan,” she meowed. “And we are not RiverClan. We will hold our ancient territory against Brokenstar’s invasion – but first, there is another matter we must discuss.” She leapt back onto the High Rock, settling herself on her haunches and curling her tail around her paws. “Redtail and Tigerclaw, please step forward.”

* * *

Firepaw held his breath as Redtail padded forward to stand level with Tigerclaw. The pair traded narrow-eyed looks as confused murmurs swept through the clan, tails lashing – with nerves or anger, or a combination of both, Firepaw couldn’t say.

“Last night,” Bluestar began. “Tigerclaw brought me new information regarding the attack by rogues on one of our apprentices, Firepaw, that happened a moon ago. He told me that when he recovered Firepaw, he found the scent of another ThunderClan cat alongside those of the rogues.”

Confused murmurs swept through the camp. Longtail hissed. Darkstripe’s tail lashed. Runningwind and Mousefur exchanged uncertain looks. Firepaw held his breath – there  _ had _ been a cat there that night, but it had been Tigerclaw – so what was the tabby warrior’s game?

“Lionheart,” Bluestar called. “Can you account for your whereabouts that night, after moon-high?”

Shocked cries rose from the assembled cats. Lionheart looked thunderstruck, staring up at Bluestar uncomprehendingly. Redtail’s indignant yowl rose above all the others. “Bluestar, this is nonsense –”

Bluestar raised her tail for silence. A hush fell over the camp. “Lionheart?”

“I – I was in camp,” Lionheart stammered. “I never left!”

“Clearly, you did,” Tigerclaw growled. He fell silent at a sharp reprimand from Bluestar, but continued to stare balefully at Lionheart.

Lionheart hissed angrily. “I tell you, I never left the camp that night!”

Patchpelt’s voice rose tremulously from the crowd. “Lionheart, I… I’m sorry, but I saw you leave the den. You went into the dirtplace, but I never saw you come out.”

At Firepaw’s side, Greypaw was trembling. “He didn’t –  _ he didn’t!” _ he hissed fiercely. “Firepaw, you have to tell them –”

But Firepaw was struck dumb with shock.  _ Lionheart? _ Of all cats, Tigerclaw was accusing  _ Lionheart? _

“I was getting a drink!” Lionheart snapped. “Is that a crime, now?”

“Peace,” Bluestar ordered. “Did any cat go with you, Lionheart?”

Lionheart shook his head. “I – no. I was only gone for a few moments, I swear –”

Whitestorm spoke up. “I can vouch for that,” he called. “I woke up when Lionheart left, and I was still awake when he returned. He was not gone long.”

Firepaw jumped as Sandpaw let out a sigh of relief to his left. “What?” she hissed. “You thought I was gonna sleep through this?”

“Where’s Dustpaw?” Firepaw whispered back.

Sandpaw jerked her head towards Redtail’s right; in the shadows, Firepaw saw Dustpaw crouching near his mentor, eyes fixed on Tigerclaw.

“Long enough to leave his scent near the Twolegplace,” Tigerclaw countered. “And on the fur of a near-dead apprentice, no less!”

Finally, Firepaw found his voice. “Did anyone else smell him?” he called out, fixing his eyes on Tigerclaw, “Or do we only have your word?”

Tigerclaw whipped around to glower at Firepaw. Firepaw glared right back.

Greypaw spoke up immediately. “I didn’t smell Lionheart!” he shouted. “I was there when Tigerclaw brought his body back, and the only scent I found on his pelt was  _ Tigerclaw’s!” _

Tigerclaw hissed. “You are Lionheart’s apprentice,” he spat contemptuously. “Of course you’d want to defend your mentor –”

“I didn’t smell Lionheart either!” Dustpaw yowled. “You think we would have kept quiet about something like that?”

“You would if your mentor ordered it!” Tigerclaw hissed.

Hisses swept through the clan at the implications – Redtail was not only the deputy, but a well-loved member of ThunderClan and a loyal warrior. Accusing him of murder? It was unthinkable.

To anyone but Tigerclaw.

“Enough of this!” Bluestar snapped. “Tigerclaw, you have accused Lionheart of murdering, or arranging for the murder, of Firepaw on Redtail’s behalf. The evidence you offer is the scent of Lionheart on Firepaw’s pelt and the growing partnership between the both of them. Furthermore, you believe you saw Redtail and Lionheart intimidating Firepaw into holding his silence. However – we have disputes over whether Lionheart’s scent was actually present on Firepaw’s fur. Are there any other witnesses who can speak to this?” she asked, casting her gaze over the clan.

“I didn’t smell it,” Sandpaw said immediately. “I was grooming Firepaw’s fur most of the night and I never caught any whiff of Lionheart.”

“N-neither did I,” Ravenpaw spoke up nervously, shifting his weight from paw to paw. He ducked behind Firepaw as Tigerclaw switched his glare from Dustpaw to Ravenpaw.

“What’s that you were saying about apprentices obeying their mentor’s orders?” Whitestorm remarked, voice cool.

“They’re apprentices!” Longtail protested. “Surely we can’t take their word over that of a warrior –”

“Firepaw’s our  _ denmate,” _ Sandpaw spat. “Just because  _ you _ don’t have a loyal bone in your body –”

“Sandpaw!”

Sandpaw ducked her head at Whitestorm’s reprimand.

Bluestar nodded gratefully at Whitestorm. “There is more,” she meowed. “As we returned to the Gathering, Redtail made a case of his own to me – as some of you will recall, it was Redtail who led the patrol to find Firepaw that night.”

“Convenient,” Darkstripe grumbled.

Bluestar ignored him. “He informed me that even after visiting the borders of the Twolegplace, he found no sign of Firepaw, nor any rogues. When he followed Firepaw’s scent trail, however, he found another scent – Tigerclaw’s.”

Darkstripe screeched in outrage. “Of course he did! Tigerclaw’s the one who  _ found _ Firepaw and brought him back!”

“Like you care,” Greypaw growled.

But Firepaw was done with this. He’d had enough – Redtail had laid the groundwork by talking to Bluestar, the false accusation of Lionheart had broken the clan’s confidence in its senior warriors, and now Firepaw stepped forward, head held high. “Of course he found Tigerclaw’s scent!” he called, shouting loudly enough to be heard over the din.  _ “He’s the one who tried to murder me!” _

The silence that fell over the camp was deafening.

Bluestar took a long breath. “Firepaw,” she meowed. “Is this your official statement?”

Firepaw nodded. “Yes, Bluestar. It is. I was attacked by Tigerclaw and tortured for information about my past.”

Frostfur made a horrified noise.

“When I refused to tell him,” Firepaw continued, clamping down on the wellspring of emotions that had suddenly rushed to the surface, threatening to strangle him –  _ panic, fear, pain  _ –  _ what if what if what if  _ –  _ help me  _ – “He tried to kill me – or did kill me, I’m still not sure which – and brought me back to ThunderClan, claiming it was the work of rogues.” Firepaw swallowed, his throat suddenly bone-dry. “He lied. It was all his doing.”

With a roar of outrage, Tigerclaw lunged across the clearing at Firepaw, claws extended and gleaming in the moonlight.

Training, and instincts Firepaw hadn’t realized he still had, took over. He shot forward, underneath Tigerclaw’s outstretched paws, and spun around in time to see Tigerclaw crash awkwardly into the ground. Immediately, Sandpaw and Greypaw leapt on top of him, sinking their claws into his fur.

Bluestar’s voice rang out over the camp. “Restrain him.”

Whitestorm, Lionheart, and Redtail descended upon the former warrior, pinning him effortlessly as the apprentices scrambled away. Dustpaw crept forward as Redtail’s second shadow, ready to join the fray if Redtail was in the slightest bit of danger – but Tigerclaw was all but immobilized beneath the weight of the three warriors.

“Tigerclaw,” Bluestar said, “do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Tigerclaw hissed furiously. “Defend myself? To you? You  _ gutless  _ excuse for a leader – you sit here in your camp, building up your walls and stores, instead of leading the clan out to  _ fight, _ like  _ real  _ warriors – you and your  _ deputy  _ –” he spat, twisting to glare at Redtail, whose face was like stone, “you let RiverClan take Sunningrocks from us, time and time again, and what do you do about it? Nothing! You bring in  _ kittypets _ and hide behind your medicine cat, bring enemies into the heart of our camp – I would never show such softness. I would have led this clan back to the days of TigerClan!”

“And how many cats would have died for it?” Bluestar murmured. “If you have nothing else to say, then I sentence you to exile,” she announced. Much of the cold implacability she had shown only shortly before was gone, replaced by bone-deep tiredness and a deep-seated reluctance to exile one of her best warriors – even for crimes as heinous as this. “You will leave ThunderClan territory now, and if any cat sees you here after sunrise tomorrow, they have my permission to kill you.”

“Kill me?” Tigerclaw sneered. “I’d like to see any of them try. As for  _ you _ –” he turned his baleful gaze on Firepaw. “Cross my path again, you kittypet  _ filth, _ and you won’t live to see another dawn.”

“You keep saying that,” Firepaw meowed, “and yet here I am.”

“Enough,” Bluestar meowed. “Tigerclaw, leave our sight.”

Redtail, Lionheart, and Whitestorm stepped back, allowing Tigerclaw to climb to his feet. He looked around, scanning the crowd of cats with hackles raised. “Don’t think I’m finished,” he growled. “I’ll be a leader yet, and no cat – alive or dead –” he spared a venomous glare for Firepaw, who was quickly becoming immune, “is going to stop me. Any cat who comes with me will be well looked after. Darkstripe?”

Firepaw looked over his shoulder to Tigerclaw’s second in all but name, expecting the sleek tabby to jump at the chance to follow his idol. He felt a wave of disappointment when Darkstripe remained in place.

“I trusted you, Tigerclaw,” he meowed. “I thought… I thought you were the finest warrior in the forest. But you did – you did  _ all this, _ and you didn’t even tell me?” He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t trust you anymore.”

Tigerclaw huffed. “Longtail?”

Longtail gave a nervous start. “Come with you?” he echoed, stepping back. “Into exile? I – no. You – you tried to kill an  _ apprentice. _ I can’t. I’m loyal to ThunderClan!”

_ And a coward,  _ Firepaw thought, but he appreciated that he got a passing mention.

Uncertainty rippled across Tigerclaw’s face, but it was gone in the space of a heartbeat. He drew himself up to his full height, eyes blazing with cold fury. “Then I’ll leave. But I’ll be back; you can be sure of that.” He stalked for the camp entrance, tail lashing. He stopped at the tunnel entrance, looking back over his shoulder at Redtail and Firepaw. “As for you two…” he hissed, “keep your eyes open. Keep your ears pricked. Keep looking over your shoulder all you like – it won’t matter. One day I’ll find you, and you’ll be crowfood.”

“Get out,” Redtail hissed.

Tigerclaw spat. He padded forward. The gorse tunnel swallowed him – and he was gone.

In the nursery, Goldenflower let out a quiet sob of despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - credit to _Into the Wild_ chapters 12-13 for some of the lines (particularly pertaining to the post-Gathering meeting about Yellowfang) and to chapter 29 of _Forest of Secrets_ for most of the dialogue when Tigerclaw is (finally) exiled.
> 
> Don't run off just yet - Tigerclaw may be exiled, but he's not dead.


	16. Chapter 16

Pinestar was waiting when Firestar finally fell asleep, only to awaken in the now-familiar meadow. Jake was at his side, bouncing on his toes.

The old leader bowed his head respectfully as Firestar rose to his feet. “You’ve done it,” he murmured. “You’ve cast my son out from ThunderClan, never to return.”

Firestar dipped his head in response. “Let’s hope.”

Pinestar shook his head. “What’s done cannot be undone – ThunderClan won’t take him back, no matter what he does. He may still be a threat in days to come, but he is hidden no longer. Bluestar will have her guard up.”

“I hope you’re right,” Firestar murmured. There was an unsettling weight in his stomach, one that warned him that things might not be so easy. “But you think he’ll come back?”

Pinestar sighed. “I hope I’m wrong,” he meowed. “But, yes. Tigerclaw’s threats are never empty.”

Firestar grunted.

“But he’s out of the way for now, at least,” Jake jumped in. “Brokenstar’s your main problem now. WindClan is still under attack – they’re trapped in their camp, barely able to sneak out to hunt. Thank StarClan some of the old tunnels are still intact –”

Firestar’s ears pricked up. “Tunnels?”

“Tunnels,” Jake repeated. “I’ve never seen them use them, but they’re still there.”

Pinestar nodded. “Heatherstar discontinued tunneling in WindClan long ago – when Tallstar was still young.” He looked over to Jake. “But you say WindClan is using them?”

Jake nodded. “They’re sending hunting parties through them, but they’re too dangerous for the elders, queens, and kits. Tallstar send warriors to RiverClan to ask for aid, but they were turned away.”

Firestar frowned, pacing the ground in front of the two older toms. “Why haven’t they approached ThunderClan?” he asked, trying to picture the situation WindClan found themselves in. ShadowClan was large, but they didn’t have the numbers to hold the entire territory – so they had to cut off WindClan at a chokepoint – the entrance to their camp, presumably.

“Tallstar’s injured,” Jake said, his voice wobbling slightly with worry. “His deputy – um, Deadfoot?”

Pinestar nodded.

“Deadfoot,” Jake repeated, more confidently. “He doesn’t think ThunderClan will help any more than RiverClan did.”

Firestar growled in frustration. “Then he’s a fool – of course we’d help! Every clan in the forest has its place; WindClan is no different.”

“You know that, and I know that,” Pinestar pointed out, “but not every cat does. ThunderClan’s border is further than RiverClan’s, and with ShadowClan patrolling WindClan’s territory, he’s likely decided it’s not worth the risk.”

Jake shook his head. “Perhaps he’ll change his mind,” he offered, not sounding particularly hopeful. “Or Tallstar will send for ThunderClan once he recovers."

Firestar dipped his head. “We can hope,” he meowed tiredly. “Is there anything else?”

Pinestar shook his head. “Nothing I have seen, but I cannot see everything.”

“Nothing new there,” Firestar muttered. “Jake?”

Jake shook his head reluctantly. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

* * *

“Spottedleaf?” Firepaw called, nosing his way into the medicine den. He hoped he wasn’t waking her up – he’d jolted awake before sunrise, haunted by jumbled visions of blood and fur and claws flashing in the sunlight. “Do you have any poppy seeds? Yellowfang’s leg is bothering her and – oh. Sorry, Bluestar.”

Bluestar, standing next to Spottedleaf as the young medicine cat sorted herbs, looked up. “Hello, Firepaw,” she meowed. “How is Yellowfang? Aside from the obvious.”   


Firepaw dipped his head respectfully. “She’s doing well enough. Darkstripe is giving her a wide berth.”

Spottedleaf snorted, bringing the poppy seeds over to Firepaw. “Warn her not to take too many. I’m sure she knows, but it doesn’t hurt to remind her.”

Firepaw grinned. “It might hurt  _ me.” _

Bluestar snorted softly. “Do try to escape a clawing, if you would, Firepaw. I’ll be visiting the Moonstone and I’d like you to accompany me.”

Firepaw straightened, his pelt prickling.  _ The Moonstone? _ “Of course, Bluestar,” he meowed. “Will... will anyone else be going?”

“Greypaw and Ravenpaw,” Bluestar answered. “It  _ is _ customary for all apprentices to make the journey, after all – and Lionheart as well. Once you’ve tended to Yellowfang, please inform them. We leave as soon as the sun rises.”

Firepaw nodded enthusiastically, bounding out of the den and trotting over to Yellowfang,

“What are you so pleased about?” she growled, snatching the poppy seeds from him.

“Bluestar’s going to the Moonstone,” he meowed, swishing his tail happily. “I’m to accompany her.”

Yellowfang grunted. “Your first time, I take it. Congratulations.” She didn’t sound terribly impressed. “The first dream from StarClan is always a memorable one.”

Firepaw snorted. “I don’t even remember my first dream from StarClan,” he muttered.

Yellowfang’s ears twitched. “You don’t?”

Firepaw shook his head. “I wish I did – oh, actually, I need to go gather the others for the trip to the Moonstone. Have a good day, Yellowfang!”

He felt Yellowfang’s eyes on him as he padded towards the apprentice’s den. He – probably shouldn’t have told her as much as he did, but he  _ trusted _ her, the same way he’d  _ trusted _ Sandpaw and Greypaw without a moment’s hesitation. He almost felt liked he owed her an explanation.

Maybe when his memories came back – and he was sure they would, just as Pinestar had said. A small part of him grumbled that it was another lie from StarClan, but he pushed it aside. StarClan did a lot of things – but they didn’t lie.

As far as he knew, at least.

“Greypaw,” he called softly. “Ravenpaw. Wake up.”

A pair of sleep-heavy green eyes appeared instantly in Ravenpaw’s pitch-dark silhouette. Greypaw woke a little slower, stretching and yawning as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “Whassgoinon?”

“We’re going to the Moonstone with Bluestar and Lionheart,” Firepaw told them, nudging Greypaw with his foot. “We’re leaving at dawn.”

Greypaw flailed, somehow managing to end up on his feet. Ravenpaw ducked out of the way, circling warily around the edge of the den to stand next to Firepaw. “We’re going to the Moonstone?” he asked.

Firepaw nodded. “Unless Bluestar was having me on, yeah.”

Greypaw barged out of the apprentice’s den, practically bouncing with energy. “C’mon, we gotta get our herbs from Spottedleaf – wait, you said Lionheart was coming too? Is he up already?”

Firepaw shook his head. “I was about to go wake him.”

“I’ll do it,” Greypaw volunteered immediately, spinning on his heels. “See you in the medicine den –”

Firepaw huffed in soft amusement as his friend pranced off towards the warrior’s den. “Best of luck to him. At least Tigerclaw’s not there anymore,” he offered, glancing over to Ravenpaw.

Ravenpaw purred. “That’s a relief,” he meowed. “I... I kept waiting for him to come after me next. I don’t know why he did.”

“Maybe he was spooked,” Firepaw suggested. “Worried you wouldn’t stay dead like you should.”

“Maybe,” Ravenpaw murmured. “I think you scared him. Still do, even.”

Firepaw laughed. “I’m flattered,” he meowed as they ducked into Spottedleaf’s den.

Spottedleaf immediately pushed bundles of herbs towards them. “Well, half of you are here, at least.”

Bluestar spoke up from her place in the corner of the den. “Where are Greypaw and Lionheart?” she asked.

“On their way,” Firepaw promised, grimacing at the bitter taste of the traveling herbs. “Greypaw offered to go wake Lionheart.”

Bluestar nodded.

Greypaw and Lionheart approached not soon after. Greypaw was still bouncing about excitedly, weaving around Lionheart’s front paws, nearly tripping the older warrior twice in the time it took them to approach Spottedleaf. As soon as they’d eaten their herbs, Bluestar was ushering them out of camp, pausing only for a moment to exchange a few quiet words with Redtail, who nodded and wished them well.

The group, with Bluestar in the lead, Firepaw at her flank, and Lionheart bringing up the rear, retracted their route to Fourtrees from the previous night, aiming to cut through the edge of WindClan territory before crossing the Thunderpath to reach Highstones.

As they climbed out of the Fourtrees hollow, the scents of the Gathering still lingering in their noses, the ground turned from soft soil into craggy boulders, before giving way to a steep cliff face leading to the wide plateau that made up most of WindClan territory.

What WindClan scent was present was stale – the scent markings of ShadowClan, however, were fresh and pungent.

Greypaw wrinkled his nose. “Ugh! They smell like crowfood!”

Firepaw snorted softly. “I doubt we smell much better to them.” He frowned, opening his jaws to taste that. “I smell a patrol –”

“They’re upwind,” Bluestar meowed. “They won’t know we’re here if we keep moving.”

They moved on quickly, leaping over the rocks, pushing their way through the sweet-smelling heather. Every few steps, Firepaw tasted the air, glancing over his shoulder to see if the ShadowClan patrol –  _ or Tigerclaw, _ offered his lingering paranoia – was stalking them.

“No sign of them,” Lionheart murmured, after the third time. He made no comments after that, much to Firepaw’s relief.

The odor grew fainter and fainter, eventually disappearing in the background of ShadowClan’s boundary markers as they neared the edge of the uplands.

Bluestar stopped suddenly. “Lionheart –”

“Bluestar?”

Firepaw started as a new voice emerged from the undergrowth ahead.  _ Onestar – no, that can’t be right – _

“Onewhisker.” Bluestar nodded politely. “How fares WindClan? We missed you at the Gathering.”

_ I know you. How do I know you? _

Onewhisker snorted. “That should tell you all you need to know. ShadowClan has hemmed in from all sides – we can barely sneak out to hunt enough food for the queens and kits.” He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “Deadfoot won’t send word to ThunderClan.”

“Deadfoot?” Lionheart echoed. “Is Tallstar not still the leader of WindClan?”

Onewhisker nodded. “He is, but he was injured in the most recent attack by ShadowClan. Deadfoot’s in charge until he recovers.” There was a slight waver in the young warrior’s voice – Firepaw couldn’t tell if he feared Tallstar losing a life, or if he feared Deadfoot’s rule.

The tabby warrior continued, “He doesn’t think you’ll help – but I – we can’t beat ShadowClan on our own. We need another clan’s help.” His amber eyes were wide and guileless. “Not even the whole clan. Just – something.”

Firepaw stepped up next to Bluestar. “Every clan has a place in the forest,” he murmured. “StarClan placed us here for a reason.” He wasn’t sure if they had, frankly – but the clans belonged together, and WindClan was no exception.

Bluestar waved her tail in acknowledgement. “I will remember that,” she told Onewhisker. “But for now, I must go to the Moonstone. Hunt well.”

Onewhisker nodded, taking a step back. “Safe travels,” he meowed, before turning and vanishing into the undergrowth.

“That was troubling,” Lionheart remarked quietly.

Bluestar nodded. “One more question for StarClan,” she murmured.

They continued on in silence. Greypaw and Ravenpaw exchanged looks, having some kind of silent conversation as they walked – Firepaw was so focused on them that he nearly walked directly into Bluestar, who had stopped at the edge of WindClan’s territory.

“Be careful,” she warned. “We’re approaching a Twoleg nest. It keeps dogs here – they’re often tied up, but keep your wits about you.”

Firepaw nodded, his pelt prickling at the thought of dealing with dogs. He shivered, old, hidden feelings of fear crawling up his spine and making his head throb.

_ Something with dogs _ – he hoped it wasn’t related to their trip to the Moonstone.

“We’ll be there by moonrise if we keep this pace,” Bluestar assured them, bounding forward. “Follow me.”

Hugging the line of hedges, the group walked on. Once or twice Firepaw could smell prey-scent from the bushes, but the herbs had taken the edge of his hunger and he ignored it.

Even in the shadows of the hedges, the greenleaf sun beat down on Firepaw’s back, making his fur almost uncomfortably hot. The Twoleg nest itself stood on a wide expanse of hard white stone, surrounded around the edges by smaller nests. Firepaw followed Bluestar as she slunk, low to the ground, past the fence that surrounded the Twoleg nest.

A sudden barrage of barking and snarling made them spin around. Firepaw’s hackles rose and he hissed, claws sliding out as his heart skipped a beat.  _ Dogs! _

Lionheart peered through the fence. “It’s all right,” he hissed. “They’re tied up.”

Firepaw stared at the growling, barking creatures straining at their ties, lips drawn back to reveal huge, lethal-looking teeth.  _ For how much longer? _

Bluestar led them onward – by the time they’d reached the Thunderpath, the sun was starting to set.

“We’ll go one at a time,” she meowed. “I’ll go first – apprentices, take note and see how it’s done.”

Firepaw nodded. He kept his eyes fixed on Bluestar as she padded to the edge of the Thunderpath, her gaze flicking up and down the vast expanse of black stone. She waited calmly as one monster after another flew past, ruffling her fur. Then, when the earsplitting roar paused for a moment, she raced across to the other side.

“Firepaw,” Lionheart meowed, “you next.”

Firepaw crouched at the edge, squinting his eyes as grit and dust were kicked into his face by the monsters’ massive paws. The roar dimmed, then vanished.

“Go!” Lionheart hissed, but Firepaw had already lunged forward, pelting across the road as fast as he could.

He skidded to a halt on the other side of the Thunderpath, panting as a monster flew past only a whisker-length away from his tail.

Greypaw was lucky – a long lull let him cross safely, with Ravenpaw on his heels.

Then it was Lionheart’s turn.

He waited at the edge of the Thunderpath, his eyes fixed on an approaching monster. Suddenly, the monster veered off the Thunderpath – heading straight for Lionheart!

Greypaw yelped in fear as Lionheart backwards – the monster veered back onto the Thunderpath and for a moment, Lionheart’s form was lost in the confusion.

“Lionheart!” Greypaw yowled. “Lionheart!”

Lionheart stumbled out of the dust cloud and onto the Thunderpath, panting heavily. He sprinted across, panting heavily.

“I thought you were crowfood!” Greypaw cried as his mentor landed safely on the hard-packed earth.

Lionheart nodded. “So did I, for a moment,” he answered wryly. “I’m all right. Bluestar, shall we?”

Bluestar nodded, concern plain on her face, but she turned and lead them onward.

The earth was darker on this side of the Thunderpath and the grass felt coarser underfoot. As they approached the edge of Highstones, the grass gave way to bare, rocky soil, dotted with patches of heather. The land sloped up now, towards the sky. Craggy rocks topped the slope, turned blazing orange in the setting sun.

Bluestar stopped once more. She chose a sun-warmed rock to sit on, flat and wide enough for all five cats to rest side by side. “Look,” she meowed, tilting her muzzle towards the dark cavern before them. “Mothermouth.”

Firepaw peered into it. It seemed – familiar. Not like a home, but like a sanctuary; an ancient place that would abide no petty quarrels or small-minded scheming. A place of peace, if not necessarily of comfort.

The cats waited in silence, soaking up the last rays of the run.

“We’ll wait here until the moon is higher,” meowed Bluestar. “Lionheart, you should hunt if you are hungry – Firepaw, Greypaw, Ravenpaw, you will be presented before StarClan as apprentices of ThunderClan and thus may not eat until after we emerge.”

Lionheart nodded. “I am fine, Bluestar. I will wait for you.”

Bluestar dipped her head. “Very well.”

They waited side by side until the warmth had seeped out of the rock on which they lay, the cold black shadows reaching up on all sides like claws. Only then did Bluestar call out, “Come. It is time.”

Bluestar stood and began to pad towards Mothermouth, Firepaw on her heels. Greypaw followed after a moment’s hesitation.

“Come on, Ravenpaw!” he called. Ravenpaw, who had been staring up at Mothermouth in awe, startled and raced after them.

“I will know the way,” Bluestar promised as they descended into the darkness. “Just follow my scent.”

Inside the cave, Firepaw could see nothing. The complete and utter blackness felt strange, but... comforting, in a way. There was no harm to be found here.

The cold, damp air reached through his fur and into his bones, stiffening his muscles – even the chill of the coldest nights couldn’t compare to the frosty bite of the air here. The rock beneath his paws was smooth as ice – freezing air filled his lungs with each breath, making him light-headed.

He followed Bluestar through the darkness, occasionally feeling Ravenpaw or Greypaw’s pelts brush against him. Ravenpaw was coiled more tightly than a startled adder, but Greypaw’s scent was filled with curiosity.

On and on they went.  _ How far have we come? _ Firepaw wondered. Then his nose twitched – the air was fresher here. He sniffed again, relief trickling through his pelt as he caught the familiar scents of the world above: peat and prey, heather and crushed grass.

“We have entered the cavern of the Moonstone,” Bluestar murmured. “Wait here. It will be moonhigh soon.”

Firepaw folded his legs under him on the chilly stone floor and waited, feeling the press of Greypaw’s pelt against his and the weight of Ravenpaw’s cheek against his shoulder.

Suddenly, in a blinding flash, the cave was lit up. Firepaw yelped as his eyes – wide open from the blackness of the tunnel – were painfully overwhelmed with cold, white light.

When he finally pried his eyes back open, he saw a gleaming rock, glittering as if it were constructed from countless dewdrops.  _ The Moonstone _ .

He stared in awe – the light from the Moonstone was bright enough to illuminate the shadowy edges of the high-roofed cavern from where it stood, rising up from the middle of the floor, three tail-lengths high. Bluestar was staring upward, her fur bleached white in the glow of the Moonstone – even Ravenpaw’s dark pelt shone silver.

“Approach the Moonstone,” Bluestar said softly. “Touch your nose to it and let the spirits of our warrior ancestors speak to you.”

For a moment, none of them moved. Then Firepaw, overwhelmed with curiosity –  _ will Pinestar be there?  _ – crept forward, lying down in front of the Moonstone and touching his nose to the cold rock.

Immediately, he fell into a slumber – a dream that felt like falling, tumbling through impenetrable darkness as the light of the Moonstone rose above him until it was as impossibly high as the stars themselves – and then there were more stars, appearing in the sky as trees, heavy with leaves, formed out of the shadows and solid, grassy ground rose up to meet his paws. He gasped, wheezing in a great breath, and stared around.

This was not Pinestar’s clearing – but the gentle shine of starlight and the warm, welcoming press of air was unmistakable, even if it were possible that he was anywhere else.

This was StarClan.

_ “Firestar.” _

He turned, distantly aware of an old ache in his shoulders – he was taller now as well – and saw Sunstar sitting behind him, his yellow eyes fixed on Firestar.

“Sunstar,” Firestar greeted, dipping his head.

_ “Firestar,” _ Sunstar intoned, his voice echoing into the forest to sound like a chorus of a thousand cats.  _ “What do you remember?” _

Firestar opened his mouth. “I –”

And suddenly, with a blinding stab of agony –

He remembered  _ everything. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - credit to _Into the Wild_ chapter 14 for some of the lines.
> 
> HALLELUJAH, he's BACK! Really, properly back - although this might cause more problems than it solves, considering the circumstances.


	17. Chapter 17

Bluestar watched in horror as the ShadowClan warriors swarmed over ThunderClan’s walls, cruel claws flashing in the sunlight. Beside her, Moonflower looked grim.

“You must move quickly,” Moonflower said. “I do not -”

Her words were cut off as the world around them was slammed into darkness, the vision of the attack swallowed by a lightless void. Moonflower vanished in a shimmer of silver, leaving Bluestar alone.

“Moonflower?” she called out, staring around wildly, unable to see her own muzzle. “Moonflower!”

A chorus of unfamiliar voices rose around her, one clearer than the rest. _“I was there when Ashfur died, and his death was my fault… I saw Ashfur besides the stream…”_

 _“What happened was a tragic accident,”_ a new voice snapped out, angry and insistent.

“Firepaw!” Bluestar called. But this cat sounded older, angrier - exhausted. Not Firepaw, but... _Firestar?_

 _“What’s done is done,”_ Firestar continued. _“It’s going to be hard for you now…”_

The voices of Firestar and the she-cat faded into the chorus.

Greypaw’s voice echoed through the darkness. _“We must be mad.”_

 _“What else could we do? Let them starve?”_ There was Firepaw again - not old and weary, but young. Desperate.

_“No! But we’ll have to be careful. We’ll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out.”_

As the voices of the apprentices died away, Bluestar heard her own voice cutting through the darkness, cold and angry. _“How long have you been visiting Twolegplace?”_

Firepaw sounded nervous. _“Not long, just since leaf-bare began. But only to see my sister. My loyalty still lies with ThunderClan.”_

 _“Loyalty?”_   Darkstripe’s  yowl  rang  out. _“And yet you bring a kittypet here?”_

 _“Isn’t having one kittypet in the Clan enough?”_ croaked an elderly voice - it sounded like One-eye. _“Trust a kittypet to find another kittypet!”_

Once again the voices faded, only for new ones to rise out of the tin - Firepaw, again, but older - not as old as the first (were they memories? Prophecies? Both) but mature, adult. A warrior.

_“Smudge, is it okay if I stay with you tonight?”_

A new voice - another one Bluestar didn’t recognize, but the smell of kittypet wafted through her nose. _“Of course. But will it be okay with...with the other cats in your Clan?”_

_“They’ll be fine, I promise. I just think this will help me figure out, you know, what we were talking about earlier.”_

_“Oh, I see. But I’m not sure how easy it’ll be getting you inside the nest.”_

Bluestar hissed aloud. What would Firepaw - Fireheart - whatever his warrior name would be - what would he want with the inside of a Twoleg nest?

Abruptly, the din vanished, leaving behind a single, echoing thought.

_“There are some things that are too big to be contained in the warrior code.”_

Bluestar stared in dismay at the image of Firepaw - a full-grown, sleek-furred warrior - curled up and sleeping peacefully in the garden of a Twoleg nest.

* * *

 

Ravenpaw stumbled as his paws slammed into the forest floor. He stared around wildly - he didn’t recognize this place, but there was something familiar about it nonetheless, something that made his fur stand on end.

“Hello?” he called out. “Is - is anyone there?”

“Ravenpaw?”

Ravenpaw spun around, his heart soaring to see the dark, ragged silhouette of his father standing in the trees. “Fuzzypelt!”

Fuzzypelt purred as Ravenpaw launched himself forward, licking his head. “You’re filthy,” Fuzzypelt murmured. “Why we keep the Moonstone so far underground -”

His words were cut off mid-sentence as a crashing wave of darkness knocked Ravenpaw off his feet. He yowled soundlessly, struggling for purchase as Fuzzypelt and the forest were ripped away, lost and drowned in the unrelenting black current. A choir of yowls rose up around him, too dim to make out the words -

_“Has it been worth it, Tigerstar?”_

Ravenpaw flattened his ears, dropping into a crouch as he was finally deposited onto solid ground - but there was nothing to see, only the ever-present darkness.

 _“All the hate? All the death?”_ That was Firepaw’s voice - but he sounded old, tired, _angry -_

A deep snarl ripped through the air - Tigerclaw’s. _“Every moment. The moment Bluestar found you, I became nothing! I have waited all this time to have my revenge! And when you’re dead - when you’re dead, I can rule the Clans or kill them.”_

Ravenpaw’s yowl of denial was lost in the wailing chorus as the voices faded away, only to be replaced by a screech. _“Spottedleaf! Don’t go!”_

Firepaw - but he was crying, sobbing - _“Please don’t go! You promised you’d be there to welcome me!”_

Ravenpaw shivered as Firepaw’s wails of sorrow faded into the background, only to be replaced by a snarl of outrage. _“Then it’s the will of StarClan that I just ignore these cats? Don’t you care that they’re suffering?”_

Another voice responded, to faint for Ravenpaw to make it out, but a flash of anger cut through the darkness like a flash of lightning, leaving Ravenpaw reeling and terrified in its wake. _“Are you mouse-brained? Are you telling me SkyClan had to leave because there weren’t enough trees?”_

Firepaw’s roar echoed as it faded. Ravenpaw crouched in the middle of the maelstrom, blind and shivering with fear. What was this? Why was it happening?

 _“Get rid of him? You mean_ kill _him?”_ That was Greypaw - horrified, but as clear as a songbird in his ear.

 _“You saw the way Frostfur went for Ravenpaw today?”_ Firepaw’s voice was angry and bitter, leaving a bad taste in Ravenpaw’s mouth as it faded away.

Then, suddenly, the chorus of yowling stopped, leaving a single, echoing voice behind - and the image of Firepaw, chillingly calm and staring directly at Ravenpaw as the pouring rain soaked through his fur.

_“I will tell him you are dead.”_

* * *

Greypaw had asked his mother, Willowpelt, about StarClan many times - what it was like, who you could see there, if StarClan would ever speak to him. Her answers had always been vague, but he hadn’t been expecting impenetrable darkness.

Or a chorus of yowling rising from around him.

_“You didn’t trust me! You thought I would betray ThunderClan!”_

Greypaw stiffened. That was - _his_ voice -

 _“I just wanted to save you from having to make a choice!”_ Firepaw’s voice spat. _“Although it’s true that I’m not sure where your loyalties lie right now.”_

Hurt and betrayal shot through Greypaw’s heart. How could Firepaw doubt him? Firepaw was his best friend - to hear Firepaw tell it, they’d _always_ been best friends -

Had Firepaw lied to him?

 _“Silverstream!”_ It was his voice again, panicky and uneven.

 _“Good-bye, Greystripe,”_ another voice whispered, so faint he could barely hear it - there was more, but whoever was speaking was too weak to be heard.

_“No, Silverstream - no! Don’t leave me! Silverstream! Silverstream!”_

At the last wail, the tumult of yowling cats suddenly fell silent, letting his double’s last wail echo eerily in the darkness, followed by Darkstripe’s snarl as Greypaw stared at the sight - frozen in midair as if suspended from a spider’s web - of him and Firepaw, locked in combat with claws unsheathed.

_"Traitors and kittypets! Is there no decent cat left in this Clan?"_

* * *

Firestar couldn’t hold back a cry of pain as nine lives of memories poured into him all at once, filling him up and overflowing like a tidal wave. Jumbled images of blood and battle uncurled and slotted into place, old sorrows and grudges ripped themselves open again only to scar over once more. Grief mixed with joy, rage mixed with love -

_“We don’t want him in the Clan! He’s a traitor!”_

_“I say these words before the  body  of  Whitestorm,  that  his  spirit  may  hear  and approve my choice. Greystripe will be the new deputy of ThunderClan.”_

_“Thank you, Firestar. I never imagined…”_

_“Squirrelpaw! Where have you been?”_

_“Keep still Firestar, I’ll have you out of this in a heartbeat -”_

_“From this day until you receive your warrior name, you will be Hollypaw.”_

_“You think  you  know  us,  but  everything  you  have  been  told about us is a lie! We are not the kits of Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight!”_

_“We will find the water! The Clans must survive!”_

_“Firestar! Firestar!”_

_“You lived like a rogue. You can die like a rogue.”_

Firestar stared at Sunstar. “What -”

“StarClan has reached a decision,” the ginger leader said. “Our sight has been cleared, our judgement rendered. We will guide the clans as we always have. The rest is up to you.”

_The rest is up to you._

He was back.

He was _back._

Firestar threw his head back and yowled his triumph for all of StarClan to hear.

* * *

Lionheart was waiting for them when they emerged from Mothermouth. The others were quiet - Bluestar was hurrying them along ( _the attack on camp,_ Firepaw realized with a jolt) and both Ravenpaw and Greypaw appeared to be lost in thought - but Firepaw’s pelt was prickling with the remnants of the surge of power that had filled him up with memories like a rainstorm filling a hollow tree.

“Is everything -” Lionheart began.

Bluestar cut him off. “We must return to camp immediately.”

Firepaw could see the question in Lionheart’s eyes, but he dipped his head, falling into step with her as they hurried back the way they had come.

The moon had disappeared behind the clouds - but at least the Thunderpath was quiet, allowing them to all cross at once. As they loped down WindClan territory, heading for Barley’s farm and, past that, Fourtrees, Firepaw noticed that Ravenpaw was flagging.

He dropped back to walk next to Ravenpaw. “Are you all right?”

Ravenpaw jumped. “I’m fine,” he meowed hastily, not meeting Firepaw’s gaze. “Just a little tired is all.”

Ahead, Bluestar and Lionheart had leapt through the fence, out of the cornfield, followed by Greypaw. Ravenpaw darted after them, leaving Firepaw to trail behind, squeezing under the fence onto an earth track.

As he caught up to the others, he saw Bluestar and Lionheart speaking to a black-and-white tom -

He blanked. _The name -_

_The stranger was a stout black-and-white tom, shorter than the warriors, but well muscled._

_“This is Barley,” Bluestar explained to the apprentices as they caught up. “He lives near this Twoleg nest.”_

_“Hi!” meowed the cat. “I haven’t seen any of your Clan for some moons. How are you, Bluestar?”_

“Barley!” Firepaw blurted out, as the memory resurfaced out of the fog that seemed to have settled over his memories. It had been moons upon moons since he’d last seen the sturdy, good-natured tom.

Barley broke off his conversation to stare. “I - do I know you?”

 _Mouse-dung._ Firepaw shook out his fur. “From the Twolegplace,” he improvised. “I doubt you remember me, but I remember seeing you and -”

He blanked again, frowning as he tried to remember what Barley had told him. Did things used to be this hard to remember? “Your sister, I think,” he finished. “I don’t - I don’t remember her name? Or maybe I never heard it.”

“The Twolegplace,” Barley repeated carefully. “You’re not clan-born?”

Firepaw shook his head. “No. I grew up in BloodClan.”

Barley bristled. “I don’t know -”

“It’s all right, Barley,” Bluestar interrupted calmly. “Firepaw is no longer among their number. He joined ThunderClan on his own initiative.”

Firepaw watched, inwardly cursing himself, as Barley forced his fur to lie flat. “Of course. I’m sorry, Bluestar - I came to warn you that there are two dogs here now. You’ll be safer going back into the cornfield instead of past the yard.”

Bluestar dipped her head. “We are grateful to you for the warning,” she meowed. “Thank you, Barley. Until next time…”

Barley flicked his tail. “Have a safe journey,” he meowed, bounding away up the track.

“Come,” ordered Bluestar, heading off the track. She pushed her way through the long grass between the path and the fence that led back into the cornfield. Lionheart, Greypaw, and Firepaw followed, but Ravenpaw hesitated, watching Barley disappear down the trail.

“Ravenpaw?” Firepaw called.

Ravenpaw startled - “Coming!” - and rushed after them, his ears pinned back against his head as he slunk past Firepaw.

Lionheart purred in amusement, dropping back to walk next to Firepaw. “Bluestar told me what happened. Did StarClan restore your memories, then?”

Firepaw glanced over his shoulder, but Barley was long out of sight. “Yes,” he admitted. “Barley was a friend.”

Lionheart nodded.

The sun rose in the sky as they continued their trek across the cornfields - the hedgerows were still wet with dew, however, sparkling in the morning light and promising another warm day.

Firepaw slowed, frowning as he saw a ditch come into view - a deep, steep-sided gully, filled with nettles. He sniffed the air -

“Rats!” he called ahead. “There’s a swarm of them in the ditch.”

Bluestar halted sharply, turning around to look at Firepaw. “You’re certain?”

Firepaw nodded, reaching for the memory.

_An earsplitting squeal made Firepaw whip around. Ravenpaw was struggling and clawing at the earth. Something had hold of his leg and was dragging him down into the ditch._

_“Rats!” spat Tigerclaw. “Barley has sent us into a trap!”_

“They… attacked us,” he said slowly, watching the events play out before his eyes, seeing the furry swarm encircle their patrol, grimacing as he felt the echoes of the fiery sting of rat’s teeth in his pelt. He recited the beats of the battle as they played out, his voice flat as he focused on conveying every detail.

_Bluestar’s eyes were open but glazed, and her gray body lay motionless. She didn’t even appear to be breathing._

“You lost a life,” Firepaw finished. “I don’t know which one.” _Fifth,_ said one voice. _Seventh,_ said another.

Greypaw gasped. Bluestar stared at him, then - eventually - she nodded, turning away to lead them around the ditch.

Firepaw followed, a faint _hiss_ of disappointment reaching his ears.

* * *

Sunhigh neared as the cats made their way through WindClan territory. There was very little speaking – Lionheart was the most talkative of the party (although that wasn't saying much, occasionally asking Firepaw questions about what he remembered or what StarClan had told him. Firepaw struggled to answer, feeling awkward and unsure around Lionheart and more intent on getting back to camp as soon as possible.

The camp was in danger, but Firepaw couldn’t quite reach the specifics, not without delving into the foggy bank of memories and bringing himself to a standstill.

Lionheart stopped to scent the air as they neared the WindClan border.

“Don’t worry about ShadowClan warriors,” Bluestar told him, not slowing her pace. “You won’t find any here today.”

Firepaw blinked. _You won’t find any here today_ –

“They’re attacking the camp?” he guessed, looking to Bluestar for confirmation.

“What?” Greypaw wailed. “But there’s _kits_ there – and elders –”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Ravenpaw pointed out quietly. “Just look what happened to WindClan.”

Bluestar nodded curtly. “We must hurry.”

Their pace increased as sunhigh passed, moving more confidently as they passed Fourtrees and joined the familiar trail that led home. The scent of mouse trailed across his nose and his mouth watered – the traveling herbs were wearing off and Firepaw’s stomach was starting to rumble.

Greypaw stopped, frowning. “Do you smell –?”

“ShadowClan,” Lionheart hissed.

Bluestar broke into a run. The rest of them followed her, hearts sinking when they heard a warning screech from the lookout and the shrill squeals of terrified kits.

Lionheart and Firepaw rushed forward side by side, Greypaw and Ravenpaw following behind, their tails bristling.

The stench of ShadowClan filled Firepaw’s nostrils as he burst through the camp entrance on Bluestar’s heels. He was met with a frenzy of fighting – ThunderClan cats battling furiously with ShadowClan warriors, the kits out of sight (safely hidden in the nursery, or so he hoped).

There was no time to take stock of the situation before a tabby warrior lunged at Firepaw, snarling angrily. He dodged out of the way, scoring his claws down her flank as she flew past him. She landed with a yowl, whipping around to face him only to be pounced upon by Lionheart.

Bluestar was locked in combat with another tabby, clawing him so fiercely that Firepaw knew he would scar for moons to come – perhaps permanently.

He sprung towards the nursery, where Blackfoot was fighting one of the elders – _Rosetail,_ his mind supplied helpfully – sinking his teeth into Blackfoot’s tail and yanking him backwards. The ShadowClan deputy rounded on him with a hiss, but no sooner had he turned his back on the wounded Rosetail than Yellowfang had appeared, spitting and yowling, and bowled Blackfoot over entirely.

Seeing that Yellowfang had Blackfoot handled – at least for the moment – Firepaw dragged Rosetail into the nursery until the pale tortoiseshell elder shook him off, regaining her feet. “I’m not that old yet,” she rasped, her eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Firepaw dipped his head, turning away from her to check on the kits. They were huddled against the back wall, trying to hide in the moss of their mothers’ nest.

A yowl of pain from outside the den signaled Blackfoot’s retreat. A moment later, Yellowfang stuck her head into the nursery, looked around – her face was spattered with blood and one eye looked painfully swollen – then vanished again.

“Go!” Rosetail snapped, shoving Firepaw towards the camp outside.

Obediently, Firepaw ducked out of the nursery, shoulder-checking a scrawny tortoiseshell who was trying to sneak past the embattled queens. She lashed out at him with a hiss – he ducked, but one of her claws still caught the tip of his ear and blood began to flow.

He lashed out in retaliation, feinting towards her head before diving for her paws. His outstretched claws caught the she-cat – crouching to avoid his feint – square in the face and she fled with blood streaming from her eyes, her high-pitched wails echoing behind her.

By now, there were only a few ShadowClan cats left in the camp – the quick return of Bluestar and Lionheart had apparently demoralized the attackers, as had the swift defeat of their deputy. Firepaw spotted Ravenpaw and Greypaw fighting side by side against a black tom who fled with a howl and a heavy limp. The last two invaders were chased off by Whitestorm and Darkstripe – and then it was over.

Firepaw sagged in relief, weaving through the cats in search of familiar faces. A quick glance told him there had been no casualties in the elder’s den, and all the queens appeared to be safe. Greypaw and Ravenpaw appeared unhurt, and there was Lionheart, blood-spattered but upright, guiding a battered Runningwind to the medicine den.

The camp itself, however, was devastated. Blood was splashed all around the clearing, mixed with tufts of fur and kicked-up dust. Their barrier wall had been ripped open by the invading ShadowClan warriors, leaving pieces of it scattered across nearly half the camp.

He looked around, searching for any sign of Sandpaw, or Dustpaw, or Redtail. With each passing moment, he grew more agitated – where were they?

“Firepaw.”

Firepaw turned, sagging in relief as he saw Sandpaw padding towards him. She was unhurt, save for a set of shallow scratches on her tail, but her face was dull with grief.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Spottedleaf’s with Dustpaw,” she said quietly. “He was fighting with Redtail, at the front of the battle – it looks bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - credit to _Into the Wild_ chapters 16-17 for some of the words.
> 
> Firepaw has his memories back and everything remains a problem. : )


	18. Chapter 18

Firepaw stumbled as he approached Dustpaw’s limp form. The dark brown apprentice’s tabby haunches were covered in blood. Redtail was at his side, cleaning a battery of scratches on Dustpaw’s face while Spottedleaf applied herbs to Dustpaw’s flanks.

Redtail looked up as Firepaw approached. Firepaw watched as the older tom visibly pulled himself together before speaking.

“It was Clawface,” he said dully. “He appeared out of nowhere – by the time I could turn and help, it was already too late.”

“He’s not gone yet,” Spottedleaf meowed briskly, not looking up from her work. “Don’t go convincing yourself it’s a forgone conclusion either. Despair can kill a cat as surely as any greencough.”

“He’s a strong cat,” Firepaw offered quietly. “He’ll pull through.”  _ He has to. _

Redtail dipped his head. “Of course,” he echoed.

Most of the clan had gathered around the Highrock by now, nursing injuries. With Spottedleaf so busy -

“Is there anything I can do?” Firepaw offered.

Spottedleaf glanced up, surprise lighting up her face before her gaze softened. “There are more cobwebs and marigold in my den. Chew the marigold and apply it to anything bigger than a scratch, then secure it with the cobwebs.”

Firepaw dipped his head, darting over to the medicine den and retrieving the supplies Spottedleaf had pointed out. He moved among the wounded, approaching Bluestar twice before he’d seen to the rest of the wounded and she finally allowed him to patch her up.

“You have done this before,” she observed.

Firepaw shrugged. “It was necessary.”

He moved on before she could ask any more questions.

“How’s Dustpaw?” Sandpaw meowed anxiously when he approached.

Firepaw hesitated. “Spottedleaf is with him,” he answered slowly. “He was still alive when I left to tend to the others.”

Sandpaw’s ears fell back against her skull. “Oh.”

He turned to leave, but her voice called him back. “Was it like this last time? Do you even remember?”

Firepaw stared back at her as the memory surfaced.

_ A high-pitched wail rose from Graypaw’s throat and he raced over to Lionheart. Spottedleaf, who had been leaning over the ThunderClan deputy, stepped back to let the young apprentice share tongues for the last time with his mentor. As Graypaw’s howl of grief echoed around the clearing, Firepaw’s fur tingled and his blood ran cold. It was the cry he had heard in his dream. _

Sandpaw hissed. “You  _ knew? _ Last time, even, and you didn’t do anything  _ then _ either?”

Firepaw flinched. “I didn’t know  _ then _ either,” he protested, unable to meet her eyes. “If you had a dream about a crying cat, would you call it a prophecy?”

“But you knew  _ this time,”  _ Sandpaw hissed. “You knew for sure - when did you get your memories back, anyway? Or did you have them all this time?”

“I got them back at the Moonstone!” Firepaw protested. “Ask Ravenpaw or Greypaw, they’ll tell you -”

Sandpaw narrowed her eyes. “If -”

Whatever else she was about to say was interrupted by Frostfur emerging from the nursery. “Our kits are all safe!” she yowled, “thanks to brave Rosetail -”

“The credit goes to Firepaw and Yellowfang as well,” Rosetail added, stepped up beside Frostfur, cobwebs clumped in her shoulder where Firepaw had put them. “They fought off Blackfoot, the ShadowClan deputy, when he tried to steal the kits.”

A murmur rippled through the clans. Bluestar raised her head. “Is that so?”

Frostfur nodded.

Bluestar dipped her head to Yellowfang. “Then you have my thanks,” she meowed. “You are a brave and loyal cat, Yellowfang. In light of your actions, if you wish it, we would welcome you as a full member of this Clan.”

Firepaw purred with delight, ignoring Sandpaw’s disgruntled hiss at his side. Yellowfang blinked, shocked, then bowed her head. “I would be honored, Bluestar.”

Bluestar began to speak again. “Despite casualties, we have successfully defended ourselves against ShadowClan, but they are still a great threat. The repair work will begin immediately. Our boundaries will be patrolled constantly. We must not assume that the war is over.”

Darkstripe’s voice rose into a yowl. Firepaw turned around to see the dark tabby on his feet, tail held high, eyes glaring. “ShadowClan attacked while we were away from camp,” he growled. “They chose their moment well. How did they know that the camp was so poorly defended? Do they have eyes inside our camp?”

His gaze settled on Yellowfang. The grizzled old she-cat hissed at him in response.

“Yellowfang defended the nursery!” Firepaw snapped back. “She’s a member of ThunderClan now, or have you forgotten already?”

Darkstripe sneered. “Yes, she’s gained our  _ trust _ , isn’t that convenient -”

“You sound like Tigerclaw,” Firepaw snapped. “Always making enemies out of friends.” He took a pace forward. “You’ve seen where that path leads. Do you want to join him after all?”

“Firepaw!”

Bluestar’s reprimand cut through the building tension. “Enough, both of you. You  _ will _ remember your places in this clan.”

Darkstripe’s gaze dropped. “Of course, Bluestar,” he murmured.

Firepaw dipped his head. “I’m sorry, Bluestar.”

Bluestar sighed. “Whitestorm?”

Whitestorm stepped up, his white coat marred by flecks of red. “Yes, Bluestar?”

“Gather a few of the uninjured and begin repairing the walls. Everyone else - rest. Recover. Our work begins tomorrow.”

* * *

Greypaw dragged Firepaw out of his nest unceremoniously at sunrise, despite the latter’s sleepy protests.

“Bluestar’s calling a meeting,” he explained, leading Firepaw out of the ferns. “Come on.”

Sandpaw groaned as she hauled herself to her feet. “Couldn’t she have waited? My legs still ache!”

“You’ll be fine,” Firepaw murmured. “But you might ask Spottedleaf -”

“I know how to take care of myself,” Sandpaw hissed. “I don’t need help from you!”

Firepaw shrugged and turned away, still too sleepy to make an argument out of it.

Bluestar was already speaking when the three apprentices took their seats near the Highrock. “Although Tigerclaw has been banished from our lands, he was also a mentor to young Ravenpaw. Since there must be no more delays in the training of our apprentices, I shall appoint Ravenpaw’s new mentor immediately.”

Firepaw’s ears pricked up. Ravenpaw sat nervously at the foot of Highrock, peering out over the assembled cats.

“Mousefur,” Bluestar announced.

The dusky brown she-cat stepped out of the crowd to face Ravenpaw, her eyes gleaming. “You have received excellent training from Speckletail, and you have shown yourself to be tenacious and honest. You will complete Ravenpaw’s training, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

Mousefur bowed her head and touched her nose to Ravenpaw’s.

Firepaw purred. Mousefur was a fine warrior - she’d be a good mentor for Ravenpaw, he was sure of it.

Bluestar jumped down from the Highrock. Ravenpaw padded out of camp after Mousefur as the clan dispersed, heading to their duties for the day.   


“I’m busy,” Greypaw told Firepaw, not taking his eyes off the hard-packed earth in front of him, “but Redtail wants you to help with the walls.”

Firepaw nodded, watching his friend as the grey-furred apprentice bounded over to Lionheart’s side and vanished into the forest.

He found Redtail speaking to Bluestar under the High Rock. Firepaw exchanged a polite nod with Yellowfang before approaching; he was glad to see that the grouchy old she-cat didn’t look any the worse for wear after her fight with Blackfoot.

Redtail looked up as he approached, his face clouded with emotion that Firepaw couldn’t quite decipher - there was sorrow there, and tiredness, but also relief and something closed-off an inaccessible that made Firepaw hesitate.

“Firepaw,” he meowed. “Good. You’re awake.”

Bluestar turned as he spoke, regarding Firepaw curiously. “You fought well in the battle yesterday,” she meowed. “I hope you can patch walls as well.”

Firepaw couldn’t help a nervous purr of amusement. “I hope so too, Bluestar. It’s been some time.”

Bluestar looked curious at that, but didn’t press the issue. “I’d like to speak with you before you retire tonight,” she told him. “For today, however, I leave you in Redtail’s capable paws.”

Firepaw bowed his head respectfully as Bluestar trotted off to where Whitestorm was waiting patiently near the medicine den.

“How is Dustpaw?” Firepaw blurted out. “Does Spottedleaf -”

Redtail sighed. “Spottedleaf believes he may live,” he meowed quietly, sorrow lacing his tone. The  _ but _ lingered between them, unspoken; a chill crept into Firepaw’s bones. He thought of Brightheart and her lost eye, of Cinderpelt and her crippled leg, of Longtail and his ruined sight.

He wondered how badly Dustpaw had been injured to elicit that kind of reaction. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not good.” Redtail’s words were clipped. “Bluestar mentioned you regained your memories?”

Firepaw nodded. “At the Moonstone, yes.”

Redtail nodded. “Good,” he murmured. He hesitated. “Do you… remember Dustpaw, at all?”

Firepaw nodded again. “His warrior name was Dustpelt,” he meowed quietly. “He was a good father, a good mate. A good warrior. Brave, loyal, kind. He had three apprentices that I recall.”  _ Including my daughter. _

“Do  _ you _ think he'll survive?” Redtail asked.

Firepaw blinked. “I’d like to,” he said hesitantly.  _ But last time it was Lionheart in his place, and he died. _

Redtail’s shoulders slumped. “I see.”

He shook himself. “Either way, you’re needed to help repair the walls. I’ve assigned you to work with Runningwind, he’ll show you want to do and get you started on your own section.”

Firepaw nodded.

Runningwind was patient without being patronizing - Firepaw appreciated it, making a mental note to make sure he got an apprentice this time.

_ Assuming he lives, _ a voice in his head offered snidely.

Firepaw ignored it, focusing on tugging his set of brambles into place.

* * *

 

“Something’s been bothering you.”

Greypaw startled badly enough to scare a sparrow out of a nearby bush. “Huh?”

Lionheart’s whiskers twitched. “Something’s been bothering you,” he repeated. “Ever since the Moonstone, you’ve been quiet.”

“I thought I was supposed to be quiet,” Greypaw meowed cheekily.   


Lionheart snorted. “And when have you ever listened to what you’re  _ supposed _ to do?” His voice gentled. “So, what is it?”

Greypaw looked down at his paws. “When I was at the Moonstone… I saw something. Or, not saw I supposed - I heard something.

Lionheart tilted his head but didn’t speak.

Guilt surged through Greypaw as he spoke again - but what was he supposed to do? Lionheart was his  _ mentor. _ “When Firepaw first came to ThunderClan,” Greypaw started, “he said - he told me he was from the future. That StarClan had sent him back to fix things.”

Lionheart said nothing.

Greypaw stared at him. “Did - did you  _ know?” _

“Bluestar told me,” Lionheart said simply. “When Firepaw fell ill, he confided in her, and she confided in me.”

Greypaw stared.  _ Why hadn’t Firepaw  _ told _ him that? _ “I - okay.” He took a deep breath. “So, when I was at the Moonstone - when Firepaw apparently got his memories back - I was stuck in this… darkness,” he said, unable to describe it adequately. “And there were these voices - I couldn’t make them out, except for a few snatches…”

He told Lionheart what he had heard, from Firepaw’s doubt of his loyalties to the death of the mysterious Silverstream to the final, parting shot from Darkstripe -  _ "Traitors and kittypets! Is there no decent cat left in this Clan?" _

Lionheart was silent for a long moment. “I do not know the will of StarClan,” he said eventually. “If you look for meaning, you should speak to Spottedleaf. But I should inform Redtail of this - if you do not object.”

“I don’t.” Then Greypaw blinked. “Don’t you mean Bluestar?”

Lionheart nodded. “Of course. Her too.”

* * *

 

It was sundown by the time Firepaw stopped working.

The camp looked much better now. The walls were strong again, even the nursery was still mostly repaired - Goldenflower and Frostfur were patching up the walls. Yellowfang herself was not as young as she once was and had retired to her nest beneath Highrock to nurse her raw and aching feet. Firepaw, though - Firepaw had kept working diligently until the sun dipped below the horizon, until Whitestorm had ordered him to get some rest.

“Not bad,” she remarked as the young tom approached. “You might even hold Brokenstar at bay for a few minutes next time.”

Firepaw blinked at her curiously. “You think there will be a next time?”

Yellowfang snorted. “Don’t  _ you?” _

Firepaw stiffened; his face went blank, his eyes unfocused. Yellowfang’s stomach dropped. She’d seen this kind of reaction in elders, sometimes - survivors of particularly horrible battles, or devastating illnesses - but Firepaw was only an apprentice.

“Frostfur thinks you took her kits,” Firepaw said tonelessly.

Yellowfang bristled.  _ “What?” _

“‘Yellowfang has killed Spottedleaf and taken my kits,’” Firepaw quoted. “The other queens tried to comfort her, but she was grieving too deeply.”

Yellowfang held her breath. She glanced furtively around the camp, relieved that nobody seemed to be paying them any mind.

“Tigerclaw said he always knew you were a traitor,” Firepaw continued in the same dead, emotionless voice. “He thought Blackfoot let you fight him off in order to gain ThunderClan’s trust and trick your way into the clan.”

“Firepaw?” Yellowfang meowed cautiously. “Can you hear me? Listen to me, apprentice - your eyes are lying. Tigerclaw’s exiled, you saw to that.”

Firepaw continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I didn’t know what to think. Darkstripe turned to Bluestar, and -”

Firepaw jerked like he’d been stung, stumbling backwards and shaking his head. He met Yellowfang’s gaze uncertainly. “I…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Yellowfang rasped, her heart aching quietly for this young, strange apprentice.

Firepaw dropped his eyes to the ground. “Okay. I - sorry. Do you need anything? Poppy seeds?”

Yellowfang shook her head. “You have enough injured without worrying about an old she-cat’s sore paws,” she muttered. “Get some rest.”

* * *

 

Firepaw did not get some rest. Instead, he made a beeline for Bluestar’s den. “Bluestar -”

“Firepaw?” His leader’s voice was sleepy. “Is something wrong?”

“I - not  _ yet,” _ Firepaw admitted, “but soon. Do you remember when I warned you about the rats?”

Bluestar was silent for a moment. “I do. Come in, Firepaw.”

Firepaw stepped into the den, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. “I had another vision. Yellowfang said she suspected ShadowClan would attack again, and I saw Spottedleaf murdered and Frostfur’s kits stolen. Yellowfang was blamed for it by Tigerclaw, but -”

“She would be innocent,” Bluestar murmured. “So, not an attack, but an infiltration. Do you know when?”

“Tomorrow,” Firepaw told her. “I don’t know when. During the day, but it could be any time - the sky was cloudy, about to rain.”

“I see.” Bluestar sat up in her nest. “I want you out of camp tomorrow.”

Firepaw blinked. “What? Why?”

“You are our greatest weapon,” Bluestar said simply. “You see a future and know it as your own, yet you have the power to change it - you  _ have _ changed it, even in the short time you’ve been here. If ShadowClan is going to attack the camp, I cannot risk you.”

“I can fight!”

“You can,” Bluestar agreed, “but you won’t.”

“Bluestar -”

“This is not up for debate,” Bluestar snapped. “This is an order, and you  _ will _ follow it.”

Grudgingly, Firepaw bowed his head. “Yes, Bluestar.”

“Good,” Bluestar meowed, lying back down in her nest. “Additionally - I’d like you to brief Redtail and I on the extent of your memories tomorrow, after the attack.”

Firepaw blinked. “Of course,” he meowed.

“Good,” Bluestar repeated. “Good night, Firepaw. Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's happening.


	19. Chapter 19

Firepaw left ThunderClan’s camp at sunrise, just as Bluestar had instructed. Every instinct he possessed was yowling at him to turn back, to help, but he forced himself to keep walking - past the Sandy Hollow back through the forest towards Tallpines - and beyond that, the Twolegplace.

Bluestar had ordered him not to interfere in ShadowClan’s attack, to leave it to the clan.

Firepaw had no such intentions. Oh, he was leaving the clan for the day, just as he’d been ordered - but he wasn’t going to stand by and let Spottedleaf die all over again.

But first, he had something else to attend to.

Whatever he'd dreamed, he didn't remember a lick of it, but he'd woken up with the utter certainty that he needed to visit the Twolegplace and check on his sister.

_ Princess. _ He barely remembered her - he could recall her face, and he believed he'd know her scent if he smelled it, but it had been so long since he'd seen her that he just didn't remember anything else. Cloudtail stood out in his memory like a beacon, but his mother was all but lost to him.

_ Not this time, _ he vowed. He might have to leave her behind when the clans left the forest, but this time he would remember her. She was his only kin here - his only  _ living _ kin at least - and the only one who remembered their mother.

Forgetting Princess wasn't as disastrous as some of his other mistakes. But it was still a mistake.

Firepaw wove his way through the back of Tallpines and leapt lightly onto the fence that separated the false forest from the rows upon rows of Twoleg nests. He walked easily along the fence, occasionally pausing to taste the air for any familiar scents - be it Smudge, Princess, or other, less savory characters.

It didn’t take long before he caught a scent he recognized. “Smudge!”

The dozing black-and-white kittypet flailed in panic. “H-h-how do you -”

“Relax, Smudge,” Firepaw meowed, stretching himself out on the fence. “It’s me, Rusty - well, Firepaw now,” he amended. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already,” he added, purring in amusement.

“Rusty!” Smudge bounded up on the fence behind him. “I thought for sure you’d been ripped up by a fox! Did you find the wild cats?”

Firepaw dipped his head. “I did. I can’t stay for long, I need to get back to them - but have you seen Princess lately?”

“Princess?” Smudge echoed. “Of course! Don’t you remember where her nest is? You used to visit it all the time when we were kits - ”

“You’re still a kit,” Firepaw muttered.

Smudge ignored him. “Come on! I’ll show you. She’ll be so happy to see you - every time I see her she asks if I’ve run into you and I  _ never _ have any news - ”

Firepaw followed Smudge through the Twolegplace, letting his kithood friend’s babbling wash over him, bringing with it a wave of nostalgia. His short exchange with Smudge upon his arrival back in the past aside, he hadn’t spoken to his friend since he was a tiny kitten - the memories of Smudge had been faded and worn out by time long before the Dark Forest made its attack on the clans. Even if he let himself slide back into the murk of his past, the only thing he could remember was the night he spent in his old garden in search of SkyClan’s descendents.

“Rus - Firepaw?”

Firepaw shook himself free of his memories before he started narrating anything. “What is it?”

“Um, nothing, it’s just -” Smudge gestured awkwardly to the garden below them, “We’re here?”

Firepaw leaned down to see a heavily pregnant light brown tabby dozing in the shade of the bushes. Her paws were white, and there was a distinctive splash of white fur on her chest.

“I can’t stay,” Smudge muttered, “my housefolk will worry. But it was good to see you again.”

Firepaw nodded, meowing a quiet farewell to his friend.

Below, Princess was still asleep.

“Princess?” he meowed cautiously. His eyes darted towards the Twoleg nest - it would be  _ incredibly _ embarrassing to be caught by Princess’s housefolk, and they’d probably want to send him back to his old Twolegs on top of that. “Princess!”

Princess yawned sleepily, her eyes blinking open as she looked around blearily. When she looked up and saw Firepaw, crouched on the fence above her, her face lit up.

“Rusty!” She sprung to her feet as Firepaw leapt down to meet her. “It’s been so  _ long _ \- Smudge told me you went to join the wild cats - are they feeding you properly? You look so thin -”

He purred as she fussed. “It’s Firepaw now,” he told her, licking her ear affectionately. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages - how are you doing?”

“Firepaw,” Princess echoed. Her face had turned serious. “Firepaw, are you in some sort of trouble?”

Firepaw blinked. “I - well, no more than usual. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Cats have been  _ asking  _ about you,” Princess hissed, lowering her voice as she glanced around, as if those same cats might spring from the bushes at any moment. “A while ago, it was these strange cats - ones from the forest -”

“A tortoiseshell with a bushy red tail?” Firepaw guessed, “and a dark brown tabby?”

Princess hesitated. “I don’t know about the tabby, but Marmalade said that the leader of the forest cats had a red tail.”

_ Redtail. _ Firepaw felt the knot of tension in his chest ease a little. “Who’s Marmalade?”

“Marmalade?” Princess flicked her tail. “Oh, he’s just a grumpy old kittypet - Oliver says that he and Pixie used to be part of Jay’s gang, but that was a long time. Don’t worry, he’s not dangerous.”

That was the second time Firepaw had heard the name  _ Jay. _ “Who  _ is _ Jay, anyway? I keep hearing about them.”

Princess’s eyes clouded over. “She was an old cat,” she told him. “She found some housefolk to take her in, around the time you left, but she died not long ago. Cats are saying it was a - a dog, but Marmalade  _ swears _ it was a cat.” Her face was troubled.

Cats that left wounds like dogs… Firepaw’s hackles rose. “Princess, this is very important,” he meowed quietly. “Did Marmalade say anything about this cat? What they look like?”

Princess shook her head. “No, nothing - but Firepaw, there were other cats that came looking for you just yesterday. These two huge toms, all scarred up - one was all black and white with a scar between his eyes -”

_ The mass of cats parted briefly to reveal Bone, the huge BloodClan deputy, crouched over another cat who moved feebly beneath him. So much blood clotted the victim’s fur that Firestar could hardly make out its color, and it took him a couple of heartbeats to recognize Whitestorm. _

_ “Bone,” _ Firepaw spat.

Princess faltered. “You - you know him?”

Firepaw growled. “He’s a murderer,” he said shortly. “He killed -” He shook his head. “Never mind. Who was the other cat?”

Princess didn’t press, but he could tell she was still curious. “A dark brown tabby,” she said. “I caught a glimpse of him from Oliver’s garden - he was  _ huge,  _ with these claws as long as dog’s teeth. For a moment I swear he saw me, but then he just stalked off.”

_ Tigerclaw. _

Something cold slid down Firepaw’s spine. “Are you  _ sure _ he didn’t see you?” he demanded. “You’re positive?”

Princess stammered. “I - I mean, I suppose he could have, but why wouldn’t he say anything -?”

“Fox dung,” Firepaw spat. “Princess, I need you to promise me you’ll stay inside for a while.”

“Why?!” Princess demanded. “Firepaw, what’s going on? What are you mixed up in?”

Firepaw opened his mouth and realized he didn’t have a reassuring lie, or even an evasively-phrased reassuring truth. “That tabby,” he started, his voice quiet. “His name is Tigerclaw. He tried to kill me and got exiled from the clan for his troubles. Now, he’s looking for revenge.”

Princess’s eyes went huge. “Firepaw -”

“I can take care of myself,” Firepaw promised. “But you need to stay safe. Stay out of sight. Don’t talk to any strange cats.”

The image of Brokenstar dragging a tiny, wailing Cloudkit away from Princess’s still body flashed in front of his eyes. He shuddered. “And look after your kits, when they come.”

“I will,” Princess promised fiercely. “And I’ll stay inside, like you said. But Firepaw… be careful. Make sure you look after yourself too.”

“I will.” Firepaw felt bad for lying, but he couldn’t  _ make _ that promise - not in good faith. Because he knew, before this was over (whatever ‘this’ turned out to be), he’d have to put himself in even greater danger. “I’ll visit again when it’s safe, but for now I have to -”

“Princess!”

Firepaw’s fur fluffed up reflexively as a new voice - an old tom, by the sound of it - echoed down from the top of the fence. He pushed his way between Princess and the newcomer, looking up to see a big ginger tom, his fur graying around his muzzle, perched uneasily on the fence. His ears were worn and tattered and, although his pelt had the well-fed sheen of most kittypets, it was ragged and clumpy.

His yellow eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Firepaw, his lips pulling back into a snarl as his claws slid out. “Who is -”

“It’s okay!” Princess meowed, stepping up next to Firepaw. “It’s okay! Firepaw, this is Marmalade, the cat I told you about - Marmalade, this is my brother, Firepaw.”

“The one the forest cats were talking about?” Marmalade peered more closely at Firepaw. “Doesn’t look like much, does he? They ever find who was after you?”

“No one was after me,” Firepaw said crossly. “No one from the - from here,” he amended, seeing Princess opening her mouth to object. “What are you doing here?”

Marmalade snorted, sheathing his claws and leaning back on the fence. “I came to talk to Princess,” he meowed. “You all right to do some walking, young lady?” he called down, his voice notably gentler. Firepaw decided that maybe Marmalade wasn’t so bad after all.

Princess nodded. “I can go for a stroll.”

“Princess -”

“I won’t be  _ alone,” _ she pointed out. “Marmalade will be with me. Besides, you can come too, if it makes you happy.”

Firepaw hesitated, glancing up at the sky. He needed to return to ThunderClan soon if he was going to help against ShadowClan’s attack -

\- but Princess was his  _ sister. _ And he’d warned Bluestar, she would be on her guard now - as would the rest of ThunderClan.  


He sighed. “I might not be able to stay long,” he told Princess. “If it’s fast…”

Princess nodded and turned back to Marmalade. “Where are we going?”

Marmalade’s expression was troubled. “To Oliver’s.”

* * *

 

The wail of grief that rose from Princess’s throat when they found Oliver’s battered body was horrible to hear.

She rushed forward and pushed her nose into his long white fur, heedless of the bloodstains. “No, no, come  _ back,” _ she cried, licking futilely at the bloody, gaping wound at his throat. “Come back, you promised you’d visit our kits -”

Firepaw startled at  _ our kits. _ The dead tom was the spitting image of Cloudtail, but he hadn’t put the pieces together until Princess had actually said something.

(He thought of Sandstorm, falling bloody and battered beneath Mapleshade’s claws, and shuddered.)

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, padding up beside his sister and resting his tail over her haunches. Marmalade hung back respectfully, head bowed.

“I don’t  _ understand,” _ Princess’s voice cracked. “Why would - why would anyone  _ do _ this?”

Firepaw glanced at Oliver’s feet. There were tufts of dark tabby fur caught in his claws. “Tigerclaw,” he murmured. “He must have seen you after all.”

Princess sobbed.

“It’s not your fault,” he promised her, pressing closer. “You two were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“He snuck out of his nest to see me,” Princess sniffled, sinking awkwardly to the ground, mindful of her swollen belly. “It was my idea - if I hadn’t -”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it now,” Firepaw told her, resting his muzzle reassuringly against her head, “but you’re not responsible for this. Tigerclaw is. And I’m going to make sure he pays for it.”

“He’s right, Princess.” Marmalade padded up on her other side, touching the tip of his tail to her flank. “Oliver was a smart cat. Had a nose for trouble, too. He’d have butted heads with these cats one way or another. There’s nothing you could have done.”

Princess sniffled. “I… I shouldn’t leave him out here, like this. His housefolk -”

“I’ll take him back,” Marmalade promised gruffly. “Pixie’ll help. You get yourself home, young lady, and don’t leave your nest.”

Princess nodded, stumbling as she allowed Firepaw to lead her away.

She was silent for the entire walk back to her nest, her eyes wet and shiny with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Firepaw told her honestly, as they jumped down into her garden. “I know it doesn’t sound plausible, but… I know what it’s like to lose someone you care for.” In hindsight, he’d been lucky - his family had survived the many tumultuous moons of famine and disease. Sandstorm, Greystripe, Squirrelflight, Leafpool - Jayfeather and Hollyleaf and Lionblaze - but he’d lost many clanmates and, for a long while, he’d believed he’d lost Hollyleaf.

(The deaths of Whitestorm and Cinderpelt still weighed heavily on his conscience.)

“Does it stop hurting?” Princess asked, sounding very small.

Firepaw hesitated. “Not really,” he admitted softly. “But it gets easier. Especially if you have your friends to help carry the burden.”

Princess’s eyes dimmed. “Friends,” she murmured. “Firepaw, how did you know that - that it was this… Tigerclaw who… ?”

“I saw his fur between Oliver’s claws,” Firepaw said softly. “He tried to fight back.”

“Fight back,” Princess murmured. “But he didn’t have a chance, did he? Not against you forest cats. They teach you how to fight, don’t they? In the forest?”

Firepaw nodded. “The Clans teach their members, yes.”

“And your kits? You teach them too?”

He hesitated. “Not until they’re six moons old, but - yes. Every cat learns how to hunt and fight for the clan.”

“I see,” Princess said softly. “I want to join.”

Firepaw stared at her. “You -  _ what?” _

“I want to join,” Princess repeated, lifting her chin. “I want my kits to know how to defend themselves, so that - so they don’t -” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “I want them to have a fighting chance in this world,” she said quietly. “I don’t want them to die because some arrogant  _ dog-heart _ of a cat decided he didn’t like being looked at and there’s nothing they can do to stop him.”

“Princess…” Firepaw sighed. “Clan life isn’t easy. Food is scarce in leaf-bare, battles over borders are still dangerous… cats die in the forest too.”

“I know.” Her voice quavered. “You told me. That cat tried to kill you. I’ve heard the stories just like you have. But it’s  _ your choice. _ You control your fate, don’t you? You decide to make something of yourself? Instead of being reliant on the mercy of those around you?”

“I -”

“I want my kits to have that agency,” Princess insisted. “I know it’s going to be hard. I know it’s going to be dangerous. But living here is dangerous too, now. I’d rather my kits be able to defend themselves.”

Firepaw took a deep breath. “Not now,” he said quietly. “It’s not - just trust me. And think about it,” he added sternly. “Joining ThunderClan… it’s not to be taken lightly. You’re a kittypet. Your kits have kittypet blood. They’ll never forget that.”

“They took you in,” Princess pointed out.

“That’s not -” Firepaw sighed. “Just promise me you’ll think about it. Really think about it.”

Princess looked reluctant, but she nodded. “As long as you promise to come back soon.”

“I will,” Firepaw promised.  _ As soon as Brokenstar is dealt with. _ He wasn’t going to drag his sister into the middle of a war with kit-stealers. “Soon. I can’t promise when, but - soon.”

“Soon,” Princess repeated. “I’ll come looking if you don’t,” she threatened. “I’ll have my kits in the middle of the woods, just you watch.”

Firepaw purred. “I believe you.” He touched his nose to her ear. “Take care of yourself, Princess.”

“You too,” she meowed, licking his head. “See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm really sorry I didn't update last week - I was moving and didn't manage to get the chapter done in time. Hope this makes up for it! Things are changing in the forest....
> 
> Also, fun fact - there is a Discord server for the series in the works! A friend gave me the idea and I've been slowly piecing it together. Let me know in the comments if that's something you'd be interested in and maybe I'll work on it seriously lmao.


	20. Chapter 20

Firepaw wove through the Twolegplace, glancing nervously at the sky as he ran. As he reached the edge of the forest, Marmalade stepped into his path. “Just a moment.”

Firepaw slowed down, narrowing his eyes at the old tom. “Something wrong?”

“Not as such.” Marmalade swished his tail. “Got a question for you though.”

_ Please don’t tell me you want to join ThunderClan too. _ “What’s the question?”

“This ThunderClan,” Marmalade started. He raised his tail as Firepaw felt his dismay show on his face. “No, I’m not interested in joining. But you take care of each other? Your kits?”

Firepaw nodded.

Marmalade nodded. “You’ll take care of Princess?”

“We will,” Firepaw promised. “I will.”

Marmalade grunted. “Good. See you soon, then. Take care of yourself, young’un.”

Firepaw dipped his head. “You too, Marmalade. Stay safe.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” Marmalade replied blithely. Then he was gone, trotting back along the fence and vanishing into the shadows of an alleyway.

Firepaw decided, rather reluctantly, that he liked Marmalade.

He hurried through the woods, glancing up at the sun, rising ominously higher in the sky as he neared camp, hoping he wasn’t too late. He tasted the air - there was no ShadowClan scent, at least not here.

Cautiously, hope began to unfurl in his chest. If -

A long, desperate wail rose from the camp.

_ Greypaw. _

A chorus of voices joined the lone wail. Goldenflower, Redtail, Frostfur -

Firepaw broke into a sprint.  _ No, no, no - _

He skidded on the path into camp, losing his footing and sliding awkwardly into the bramble walls. He winced as the thorns cut through his skin; trickles of blood ran down his pelt. Firepaw pulled himself free and righted himself, grimacing.

His heart froze in his chest as he stumbled through the entrance tunnel. The camp stank of blood - ShadowClan’s ambush had turned into a pitched battle. His ears fell back against his skull as a familiar scent hit the back of his throat.

_ Tigerclaw. _

A heavy weight careened into his side, sending him sprawling. “Where  _ were you?” _ Greypaw wailed, standing over him. Tears fell freely from his eyes. “You were supposed -  _ you were supposed to -” _

Instead of words, another broken cry of grief escaped.

As Firepaw looked past the looming form of his friend, he saw a still bundle of golden tabby fur lying outside the medicine den.

“No,” he breathed.  _ No, no, I  _ saved  _ you - _

Sandpaw yanked Greypaw off of Firepaw’s chest. Firepaw scrambled to his feet, hunching his shoulders in grief as he searched the rest of the camp frantically. Spottedleaf was there, tending to a wound on Mousefur’s flank. Rosetail was grooming Frostfur’s pelt as the queen wailed into Lionheart’s thick fur.  _ “My kits, our kits -” _

Redtail -

Redtail was crouched next to the nursery, grooming an unmoving, bloody Bluestar.

_ “No -” _

“You  _ knew,” _ Greypaw wailed, struggling in Sandpaw’s grip. “You  _ knew _ and you didn’t do  _ anything -” _

Firepaw shrank back. “I -”

“What does he mean?” Runningwind snapped, limping forward. “What does he mean, ‘you knew’?”

Hisses spread through the camp as dozens of eyes turned to face him. Most were accusing, some were confused, one pair - green, attached to Ravenpaw’s huddled form - was beseeching, begging him to  _ fix this _ -

\- but he couldn’t.

Darkstripe’s derisive yowl cut through the air. “Isn’t it obvious?” he spat, limping forward, his eyes blazing. “The  _ kittypet _ let this attack happen! He ran away to save his own hide, then thought he could come crawling back with a  _ sorry _ to make it all better!” He spat contemptuously. “That’s what you get, for expecting a  _ kittypet _ to understand Clan loyalty.”

“I didn’t!” Firepaw protested. “I wouldn’t -”

_ “Traitor!” _ Frostfur screeched, lunging for him.

Firepaw fled.

* * *

 

Sandpaw hissed in frustration as she dragged Greypaw backwards, towards the apprentices’ den. “Cool it,” she grunted. Tact was not her strong suit. “He’s gone, all right? StarClan knows if he’s mouse-brained enough to come back.”

Greypaw sagged in her grip. She waited a few moments before releasing him, stepping back, and shaking out her fur with a grunt. One of the ShadowClan warriors had kicked her nearly clear across camp and she was going to be feeling those bruises until the next Gathering.

She watched as Greypaw slunk over to Lionheart’s body and pressed his muzzle into the warrior’s fur. Frostfur pressed up against him briefly before she began to groom her mate’s tattered pelt. Goldenflower came up on Greypaw’s other side and joined Frostfur, smoothing her littermate’s fur down and cleaning the blood away.

Whitestorm padded over to her, his eyes dim was grief. “Are you injured?” he meowed quietly.

Sandpaw shook her head. “Just some aches. I’m fine.” She searched her mentor’s white pelt for any signs of blood. “Are  _ you  _ okay?”

She saw a twinkle of approval light up his gaze, just for a moment. “As well as can be expected, I think.”  


A little of the tension seeped out of Sandpaw’s shoulders. She looked around for Ravenpaw and found him crouched by the nursery, staring down at the dark body of a ShadowClan warrior Sandpaw recognized as Frogtail. She padded over to him and began to groom his fur.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “He was - he was trying to get into the nursery - I saw Lionheart go down and I jumped in and -”

“You did good,” Sandpaw told him bluntly. “Like you said. He was trying to get into the nursery.”

“But I didn’t  _ mean to,” _ Ravenpaw meowed wretchedly. “I just wanted him to stop hurting Lionheart - and Greypaw was too far away -”

“He did,” Sandpaw pointed out, smoothing an uncooperative tuft of fur. “It wasn’t your fault,” she added, more quietly. “You did everything you could.” She glanced around for Mousefur - wasn’t this a mentor’s job? - but her ire deflated when she saw Spottedleaf tending to the battered-looking she-cat.

“It wasn’t enough,” Ravenpaw muttered.

“It never is.”

Sandpaw looked up to see Yellowfang standing in front of them. The grimy, squat-faced she-cat loomed over them, her orange eyes practically glowing in the light. “You should get those looked at,” she meowed to Ravenpaw, gesturing to a trio of scratches on his head. “Frogtail never cleaned his claws. Those’ll get infected for sure.”

A soft cry of relief interrupted any reply Ravenpaw or Sandpaw might have made. All three cats looked over to where Bluestar was slowly getting to her feet, leaning on Redtail as she did so.

Yellowfang padded over to Bluestar, looking her over perfunctorily before stepping back, apparently satisfied, abandoning Bluestar to Redtail’s fussing.

“Come on,” she grunted to Ravenpaw. “I’ll put some marigold on that.”

Sandpaw trailed after her, sticking close to Ravenpaw. She paused as she passed Lionheart’s body. Goldenflower, Greypaw, and Frostfur had been joined by other members of the clan. It was strange not to see Firepaw’s ginger fur pressed up against Greypaw’s ashen pelt. He’d only been a member of the clan for a couple moons, but he already felt like a fixture in the apprentice den - especially around Greypaw. The two were practically inseparable.

Her gaze jumped to Darkstripe, who had flopped down in the shade of the Highrock and was washing a wound on his tail, eyes darting around camp. Briefly, his gaze met hers. She looked away quickly.

“There,” Yellowfang grunted, plastering a thin layer of cobweb on top of Ravenpaw’s scratches. “Now, what are you two going to do?”

Sandpaw blinked. “Do? Do about what?”

“About Firepaw,” Yellowfang meowed, like it was obvious. “What else?”

Sandpaw bristled. “Why would we want anything to do about  _ him?”  _ she snapped. “He ran off! He was supposed to  _ be here, _ and he  _ wasn’t!” _ For all Greypaw’s grief and general impulsiveness, Sandpaw agreed with him on that point - Firepaw should have been in camp.

And he hadn’t been.

“And what could he have done, exactly?” Yellowfang said waspishly. “He’s one cat - an apprentice, at that. Perhaps he should fight all of ShadowClan at once?”

_ I bet he could. _ The thought sprung to mind, unbidden. Sandpaw shook it away angrily. He was from the future, not invincible. “He could have done  _ something.” _

“We all could have done something.” Yellowfang’s words were tinged with sadness. “Let me put it this way. Do you think Firepaw betrayed your clan to ShadowClan?”

Sandpaw opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. She thought about how Firepaw had spoken about Longtail the night she’d caught him sneaking out.  


_ I’ve lived beside him nearly my entire life. I shared a den with him, I assigned him two of his apprentices, I performed his elder’s ceremony, I was there when he died. He’s a  _ good  _ cat – patient and kind, dedicated to his clan and loyal to his friends. _

She also remembered his outrage over the kit-apprentices at his first Gathering.

_ Small? They’re  _ kits!  _ That one there, how old do you suppose she is? Four moons? Five? _

“No,” she admitted reluctantly, tail drooping. She didn’t know  _ why _ he’d picked today of all days to vanish, but she doubted it was because he’d sold them out.

“Well, good to see Stumpytail didn’t knock  _ all _ the sense out of you,” Yellowfang muttered.

Sandpaw looked back at Greypaw and made the executive decision to leave him be for the time being. “Ravenpaw, are you okay to travel?”

Ravenpaw blinked. “Um. Yes, I suppose? Why? Where are we going?”

“We’re going to go find Firepaw,” she said grimly. “We’re going to get some answers if I have to claw them out of him. And we’re going to find Frostfur’s kits, with or without him.”

Yellowfang’s eyes gleamed in approval. “Well, let’s go. We’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

 

Outside the camp was a tangle of scents. ShadowClan mixed with Tigerclaw, who had forced his way into the nursery and snatched Cinderkit and Brackenkit up in his jaws, mixed with Firepaw’s fear-scent.

Yellowfang’s eyes narrowed as she examined the smells. “One of the ShadowClan warriors is injured,” she meowed. “Badly. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets left behind.”

“Would Brokenstar do that?” Sandpaw asked skeptically. “Just abandon one of his warriors.”

Yellowfang sighed. “There is no room for weakness in Brokenstar’s ShadowClan,” she meowed bitterly. “And no room for medicine cats.”

“That’s mouse-brained.”

“Incredibly,” Yellowfang agreed. She turned to Sandpaw. “Well? This  _ is _ your idea, after all.”

(Truth be told, Yellowfang was rather fond of the spunky young apprentice, despite her shortcomings. She had potential, if it was nurtured properly. Besides, she doubted Sandpaw would take kindly to being told what to do by the former ShadowClan medicine cat.)

Sandpaw narrowed her eyes. “Do you know which warrior is injured?”

Yellowfang tasted the air again. “Stumpytail, I think,” she meowed eventually. “Smells like him.” She felt a sharp pang in her chest as she said it - Stumpytail was her sister’s kit. She hoped, for Rowanberry’s sake, that the thin brown warrior’s injuries were survivable.

Sandpaw nodded. “Do you think you can track him? If Brokenstar leaves him behind, that is?”

Yellowfang nodded.

Sandpaw took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. Um, you should do that then. I’ll look for Firepaw and we’ll meet…” she trailed off, clearly thinking hard. “We’ll meet at the Great Sycamore?”

Yellowfang grunted. “Great Sycamore. Where is that, again?”

Sandpaw hesitated. “Uh… Ravenpaw can show you.”

Ravenpaw blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” Sandpaw was clearly warming to the idea. “You’ll be tracking more cats, so you shouldn’t go alone. And Ravenpaw knows the territory better, so he’ll be able to find me again. Besides, he’ll fold like an elder in a stiff breeze if he has to confront Firepaw.”

Ravenpaw, notably, did not protest.

_ Can’t fault that logic. _ “The Great Sycamore,” Yellowfang echoed. “All right, then. Let’s get going.”

Sandpaw nodded. “Right. Well, good luck.” And she was off, trotting through the trees. Apparently, Firepaw hadn’t bothered with any sort of subtlety in his flight from camp.

Yellowfang wished she could follow - she wanted to make sure the strange ginger apprentice was safe and at least partially sound, to comfort him through the worst. She  _ knew _ what it was to be rejected by your clan; even if Firepaw had only lived among them for a short time, the exile - however unofficial - would burn.

But she was the only one of them who could track Stumpytail. More to the point, she was the only one who could treat his injuries.

“This way,” she told Ravenpaw, leading him down the path the retreating ShadowClan patrol had taken.

She moved slowly, keeping a sedate pace to avoid catching up to the full patrol. If she was right (and she was always right) Stumpytail would be abandoned sooner rather than later. Poor, mouse-brained fool.

The stench of blood hit the back of her throat. She raised her tail to halt Ravenpaw, then moved forward cautiously, slinking low to the ground.

_ There. _ Through the trees, she could make out Stumpytail’s form, slumped against a rock and panting heavily. Blood dripped steadily from several long, deep scratches in his belly.

Yellowfang grimaced at the sight, her own belly stinging in sympathy. She took a deep breath, remembering what Sedgewhisker had taught her, and banished Stumpytail’s pain back where it belonged.

“You look like crowfood,” she called out fearlessly. None of the other ShadowClan warriors were nearby, if their scents were anything to judge by. “Is this how Brokenstar rewards loyalty these days?”

“Like you’d know anything about loyalty,” Stumpytail spat. “Kit-killer!”

Yellowfang hissed. “I never laid a paw on those kits,” she snapped, “and you’re a fool if you think otherwise.” She eyed the wounds as she padded closer. “How bad is it?”

“You were a medicine cat,” Stumpytail said nastily, “you tell me.”

Yellowfang stared at him, unimpressed. “If you lie down, you’ll bleed out more slowly. You might even last until sundown.”

“I’m not  _ bleeding out,” _ Stumpytail protested. But Yellowfang could taste the edge of fear in his scent. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

Yellowfang snorted. “Yes, and I’m just an apprentice. Ravenpaw!” she called over her shoulder.

Ravenpaw stepped forward nervously. “Y-yes Yellowfang?”

“You remember what marigold looks like?” He nodded. “Good. Find some. And some cobwebs.”

As the sleek black apprentice darted off, Yellowfang sat back on her haunches, observing Stumpytail as he sank to the ground while trying to pretend he wasn’t taking Yellowfang’s advice.

“Let’s see if you can earn those herbs,” she offered. “Why did Brokenstar take those kits?”

“Shove off.”

Yellowfang shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll tell Ravenpaw not to bother.” She started to rise to her feet, intending to hide somewhere downwind until Ravenpaw came back.

“Wait!” Panic tinged the edge of Stumpytail’s voice as she turned away. “It’s - he wants more apprentices,” he said. “They keep dying. In battle, I mean.”

Yellowfang hissed. “Because they’re  _ kits,” _ she growled, sitting back down. “Not apprentices. So, he’s desperate enough to steal from other clans? He must be going through them at a truly prodigious rate. I remember ShadowClan’s numbers being the strongest in the forest when I was last there, being falsely accused of murdering kits.”

Stumpytail growled in frustration. “Fine, yes. Is that what you wanted to hear? We’re running out of kits.”

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. Stumpytail wasn’t meeting her gaze. “What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“I  _ mean,” _ Yellowfang said, with exaggerated patience, “what other reason is there?”

“How should I know?” Stumpytail snapped.

Yellowfang sighed and rose to her feet again.

“Wait!  _ Wait! _ Okay!” Stumpytail took a deep breath. “I - look, I don’t know for sure if this is what he’s doing, but I heard him talking with Blackfoot about forcing Bluestar to give up territory.”

Yellowfang pinned her ears back against her skull.  _ Hostages. _ Bluestar would be forced to concede, or allow two of her kits to be killed.

“Fox-hearted coward,” she spat. “Thank you, Stumpytail.”

Right on cue, Ravenpaw stepped into the clearing, carrying a bundle of marigold and a pawful of cobwebs.

“Good work,” she grunted, and set to work chewing the marigold and applying the poultice to Stumpytail’s wounds. Ravenpaw helped paste the cobweb over top.

“There.” Yellowfang stepped back, surveying her work. “You’ll live. Run back to Brokenstar, if you like,” she meowed, “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Stumpytail rose gingerly to his feet, testing his legs before - reluctantly - dipping his head to Yellowfang. “Thanks,” he muttered. “No offense, but I hope I never see you again.”

“None taken,” Yellowfang meowed back. “Although,” she added, “would you deliver something for me? A message.”

Stumpytail eyed her suspiciously. “Depends on the message.”

Yellowfang hesitated. There was so much she wanted to say, to so many cats. To Rowanberry, to Brightflower, to Brokenstar, to Runningnose - but Stumpytail, she suspected, would only deliver one.

“Tell Brightflower,” she meowed eventually. “Tell Brightflower that I forgive her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO y'all decided you wanted a discord server.
> 
> ...here's the link: [Ouroboros Fan Server](https://discord.gg/vwRYnvN)  
> I'm going to SLEEP because it's 2:30 in the AM, so if I'm not there when you show up it's because I am well and truly unconscious.


	21. Chapter 21

Firepaw ran blindly through the trees, neither willing nor able to stop the tears that blurred his vision.

_ My kits - our kits - you knew - _

_ Traitor! _

Never in his life - in any of his lives - had Firepaw felt such hatred from his clanmates. He had been an outcast, mistrusted by the clanborn warriors, yes - but never - never this.

ThunderClan had never  _ hated _ him.

He stumbled down the bank of a dry streambed, sliding to an awkward halt at the bottom of the incline. His chest ached, his throat was raw, his bones felt like wet pine needles.

Firepaw clawed his way up the other side and staggered off the path, eventually collapsing under a bush as the dull, grey despair pressing down on him finally overwhelmed his vision.

ThunderClan hated him. Greypaw, his best and oldest friend,  _ hated _ him.

Lionheart was dead. Tigerclaw and ShadowClan had allied moons earlier - Princess’s beloved mate was dead -

Everything was falling apart around him. And it was all his fault. His meddling, his attempts to change the future -  _ he _ had done this, he alone, it was  _ all his fault _ -

(He shouldn’t have left. He should have tried harder, fought better. He should have -)

Rain soaked through his fur. Overhead, the crack of lightning sounded. Sandstorm’s wail echoed in his ears.

_ “Firestar! No!” _

* * *

 

Sandpaw wove through the forest, following Firepaw’s fear-scent. She had to scoff - what did he have to be afraid of? It wasn’t like Bluestar or Redtail had kicked him out. It was just Darkstripe mouthing off and Greypaw being a mouse-brain and  _ yeah, it sucked, _ but it wasn’t  _ unfixable. _

Probably.

Gradually, the fear gave way to the heavier smell of grief, which was accompanied by something shaky and sharp - almost like lightning - that Sandpaw couldn’t identify. She frowned, slowing her pace. What if Firepaw had run into something? Or someone? She couldn’t pick up any other strange smells, but if the staticky smell wasn’t from Firepaw…

Whatever. It was fine. It would  _ be  _ fine.

She followed Firepaw’s scent towards Fourtrees, growling in irritation as it began to rain. He was slowing down - stumbling, even. Was he injured? She didn’t smell any blood, but maybe the mouse-brain had twisted his paw while running or something.

She sighed. If she had to drag him back to Yellowfang by the scruff of his neck… well, she wasn’t going to let him forget it, that was for sure.

Sandpaw leapt lightly down the bank of the streambed and scrambled back up the other side, hauling herself over the last lip of earth with a grunt of effort.

Firepaw’s scent was much stronger now, and fresher - he must be nearby. She paused, swiveling her head around as she tasted the air.

He’d gone off the path. Why had he done that?  _ Was _ he injured - really, truly injured? Sandpaw’s fur prickled nervously. Yellowfang was off chasing the injured ShadowClan warrior. Sandpaw didn’t know  _ anything _ about herbs; if Firepaw needed healing, she’d be useless. Worse than useless, even.

(She  _ definitely _ wasn’t going to let him forget this. Dragging her out here, making her  _ worry _ about his flea-bitten hide? He was going to be doing her chores until her  _ warrior ceremony.) _

“Firepaw?” she called out nervously. Lightning  _ cracked _ through the air, making her jump. “Firepaw! Are you still here, mouse-brain?”

A faint rustle of leaves made her whip around. There was Firepaw - curled up under a bush, damp but completely unharmed.

All of Sandpaw’s worry immediately morphed into anger. “You  _ mouse-brained ginger lump,” _ she hissed. “You drag me all the way across ThunderClan territory looking for your miserable hide and I find you hiding under a  _ bush?” _

Firepaw stared at her with empty eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hollowly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry - I shouldn’t have left -”

_ StarClan save me. _ She didn’t have time for this. “Look, whatever,” she muttered, turning back to the path. “Let’s just go -”

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

Sandpaw stopped.

She turned back around. “Left… me?”

“I left you alone -” Firepaw sounded like his heart was breaking, but he was still  _ staring _ at her, blank-faced. “- I should have tried harder -”

Sandpaw took a cautious step forward. “Um, Firepaw? Can you hear me?” She moved her head side to side, but Firepaw’s gaze stayed locked in one place.

He was looking at her, sure, but he wasn’t  _ seeing _ her.

_ Fox dung. _

“I tried,” he whispered. “I tried, believe me - you deserved so much better - the battle was  _ over  _ I could have kept living the clan needed me, Hollyleaf and Ferncloud and Mousefur were  _ dead _ and they  _ needed me,  _ and  _ you _ needed me, and Brambleclaw, our daughters needed me -”

_ Our daughters - ? _ Did Firepaw think she was his mate from the future? Who was he seeing, anyway - a loner or a rogue he’d fallen for? A cat from another clan? She couldn’t fathom any she-cat in ThunderClan becoming  _ mates _ with him, unless - actually, maybe he and Greypaw became an item. It would explain why he’d looked like someone had stolen the stars out of the sky when Greypaw turned on him.

_ “ - I'm sorry - ” _

“Yeah, okay,” she decided, taking a big step back. “That’s enough. Call me when you’re back to being not-weird. Or like… the normal amount of weird.”

“Don’t go!” Firepaw cried out after her. “Wait -  _ Sandstorm!” _

Sandpaw froze.

_ Sandstorm? _

Was he - did they -   


_ Ew! _

Sandpaw shook herself, feeling a bit like she’d just been thrown into a mud puddle. That - that was just - that was  _ weird.   
_

“Don’t like that,” she muttered.  _ “Don’t like that.” _

“...Sandpaw?”

Firepaw sounded  _ absolutely mortified. _

_ Good. That makes two of us. _

“Uh-huh.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, still wary. “Are you… back to normal now?”

“Um.” Firepaw was staring at the ground like he was wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. “I. Um. Yes.”

“Good. Great.” She flicked her tail impatiently towards the path. “Let’s, uh, let’s go. Like, now? Yellowfang’s waiting for us -”

“Right, yeah of course -” Firepaw scrambled to his paws and padded after her.

Sandpaw led them back the way she’d come. The awkward silence lasted for all of a minute before she sighed, dropping back to walk next to Firepaw. “So… my warrior name is Sandstorm?”

Firepaw stumbled. Automatically, she moved to catch him, but he shied away from her, regaining his paws on his own.

That was fair enough, she decided, and resolved to let him fall on his face next time.

“It is,” he confirmed. “Bluestar named you and Dustpelt - Dustpaw - at the same time, after rogues attacked the camp.” His whiskers twitched. “You clawed one of them so badly they ran off squealing.”

Sandpaw frowned. “Wait, wait, back up. When did rogues attack the camp?”

“Um…” Firepaw’s eyes began to unfocus. Quickly, Sandpaw batted him about the head. He yelped, skittering away from her like a startled kit. “What was  _ that  _ for?” he demanded.

“Don’t you get all weird on me again,” Sandpaw warned. “It was bad enough the  _ first _ time you did it, I don’t need you doing  _ that  _ thing all over again.”

Firepaw opened his mouth, obviously thought better of it, and shut his muzzle with an audible  _ snap. _

“Anyway,” Sandpaw continued, a little louder than she probably should have. “Never mind about the rogues. You, uh,” she cleared her throat. “You mentioned… daughters?”

She’d known Firepaw had kits in the future. He mentioned them now and again and he’d been practically desperate to remember them during the period he’d lost his memories. She hadn’t really paid much attention, to be honest - she’d never been that interested. But now that they were apparently  _ her _ kits too…

Even if they didn’t end up happening, she felt like she should know them.

Slowly, Firepaw nodded. “Their names were - are -” He sighed in frustration.  _ “Were _ Squirrelflight and Leafpool.” His face softened as he spoke; Sandpaw tensed as his eyes went distant, but they stayed warm and fond instead of turning blank and hollow like before. “Squirrelflight - well, she had a bit of an attitude problem as an apprentice,” he admitted with a  _ mrrow _ of amusement, “but she’s a fine warrior with a good head on her shoulders. Most of the time,” he added tiredly. “But she’s brave, fierce and loyal. Her fur is darker than mine, and her eyes, but she has one white paw.” He sounded a little puzzled. “I’m not sure who she got that from.”

Sandpaw shrugged. “She sounds like a good cat,” she offered.

Firepaw practically glowed. “The best,” he agreed.

“So…” Sandpaw floundered for a moment before she remembered the other name. “What about Leafpool? What was she like?”

To her surprise, Firepaw scoffed - fondly, but he still scoffed. “Leafpool was a model medicine cat. She takes after my sister - brown tabby, white paws, white chest - and they have similar temperaments, peaceful, kind souls that they are, although Leafpool caused more trouble than Princess ever did.”

Sandpaw blinked. “I thought you said she was a model medicine cat?”

“She was,” Firepaw said dryly, “except for the time she ran off with a WindClan warrior and came back bearing his kits.”

Sandpaw sputtered. “That’s - I don’t even  _ know _ how many times that breaks the warrior code -”

“I stopped counting,” Firepaw said resignedly. “I didn’t even know the kits were hers until after they were warriors - she gave them to Squirrelflight to raise as her own. Even Squirrelflight’s  _ mate  _ didn’t know.”

“StarClan save us,” she muttered. “She gets that from  _ you,” _ she added, feeling the need to defend herself.

Firepaw conceded the point gracefully. “Probably.”

“So.” Sandpaw cleared her throat as they neared the place where Firepaw’s and ShadowClan’s scent trails had diverged and turned sharply, following the smell of Ravenpaw’s nervousness. “You - we -  _ you _ have grandkits?”

He nodded, dropping back to let her take the lead. “Lionblaze, Hollyleaf, and Jayfeather,” he revealed. “I… could tell you more about them later, if you like? And more about - about Squirrelflight and Leafpool?”

Sandpaw paused on the trail. Just because she was hearing about them didn’t mean they had to - didn’t mean she was  _ obligated _ to mother them. It was just curiosity. “Sure,” she replied, aiming for nonchalance and not quite nailing it. “Later. C’mon, the others aren’t far.”

* * *

Firepaw was still half-hoping the ground would have mercy on him and swallow him up where he stood.

When he’d dragged himself under that bush, exhausted by shock and grief, it had only taken a flash of lightning to hurl him back to his final battle with Tigerstar, to the taste of blood flooding his mouth as Tigerstar’s body dissolved into dark smoke and the sharp, searing agony that had coursed through his body; to Sandstorm’s desperate, grief-stricken cry -

He’d opened his eyes to a forest clearing filled with starlight with Sandstorm’s scent in his nose. In front of him, the shimmering, translucent form of Sandstorm faded into view. He’d poured his heart out, begging forgiveness - and then she’d turned and walked away.

(And apparently, it had been Sand _ paw. _ Oops.)

(He still wasn’t sure if he was losing his mind or not. Maybe his old life was bleeding through to StarClan, or maybe he was going mad from loneliness. Considering StarClan’s recent reactions to time travel shenanigans, he wasn’t quite sure which was worse.)

But Sandpaw had reacted… not as well as he’d dared to hope, but better than he’d feared. She’d asked about their kits. About their  _ grandkits. _

He didn’t dare hope things might play out the same way between them as they had last time. But he also couldn’t conceive of a world where his family just - didn’t exist.

It was a very fine line to walk. So far, he was just barely managing it.

_ Later, _ he told himself.  _ Deal with it later. _

“Ravenpaw!” Sandpaw called. “Yellowfang! I found him!”

Firepaw blinked. “You were looking -”  _ Of course you were, _ he realized. Why else would she have found him so quickly.

Sandpaw shot a scathing look over her shoulder as Ravenpaw darted out of the trees and bounded over to Firepaw, purring loudly. He touched his nose to Firepaw’s and licked his ear, still purring. “You’re okay!”

Firepaw purred back. “Of course I’m okay,” he meowed reassuringly. “I’m just fine.” He looked over Ravenpaw’s shoulder to see Yellowfang emerging from woods onto the narrow, overgrown path. “What were you two doing out here?”

Yellowfang flicked her tail dismissively. “Gathering information. Frostfur’s kits are safe for now. Brokenstar intends to use them as leverage to force Bluestar to concede hunting rights to ShadowClan on ThunderClan’s territory. He won’t risk harming them - at least not until he’s opened negotiations.”

“How long will that take?” Firepaw asked, stepping past Ravenpaw to address Yellowfang directly.

Yellowfang shrugged. “Not long,” she admitted. “A day, at most.”

Firepaw nodded. He began to pace as he thought - the best way to open dialogue with another clan was to send an envoy to their camp, but considering recent circumstances, any ShadowClan cat on ThunderClan territory would be attacked on site. The better option would be to wait on the border to speak to the next patrol.

Patrols wouldn’t be sent out until camp was repaired and Bluestar was -

_ Mouse dung. _

“Is Bluestar all right?” he asked, glancing between the other three cats. “Was anyone - anyone else injured?”

It was Yellowfang who answered. “Mousefur, Darkstripe, and Speckletail were injured,” she rasped. “All of them will recover, given enough herbs and time. Bluestar, I believe, has lost a life.”

Firepaw cursed. The life he’d saved by taking them out of the path of the rats - gone. Because he’d tried to  _ change things. _

_ Deal with it later. _ He had to rescue the kits now.

If ShadowClan was going to wait by the border…   


He looked around. Three apprentices, one former medicine cat.

“I have a plan,” he announced. “But we’re going to need another warrior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter, this one. We're closing in on the end of the first book.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end of _Into the Wild!_

“Are you sure about this?” Whitestorm asked.

Firepaw nodded. “Positive,” he meowed. “We won’t get far into ShadowClan territory without being found out, even with Yellowfang on our side.”

Yellowfang nodded in grudging agreement. “ShadowClan is too large. Brokenstar has patrols running around the entire territory and guards near the camp. We’d be smelled out, even in this rain.”

Whitestorm dipped his head. “Very well. So, you plan to catch the next border patrol and convince them to take you - us - to camp to negotiate for the kits.”

“That’s right,” Firepaw meowed.

“And once we’re there?”

“That’s Ravenpaw’s part,” Firepaw explained. “Yellowfang, did you find any of the other exiles?”

Whitestorm’s ear flicked, but he kept silent.

Yellowfang shook her head. “I found their old camp, but it looks like they’ve moved deeper into the marshlands. Stumpytail was with them,” she added. “I doubt he trusts Brokenstar to keep him alive after he fell behind.”

“And told us why Brokenstar took Frostfur’s kits,” Ravenpaw added in an undertone.

Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “Yes,” he agreed. “That too.”

Whitestorm’s eyes twinkled. “I see. So, why come to me? Why not tell the clan your plan?”

Firepaw’s eyes dimmed. “I doubt they’d listen,” he said quietly. “We’re three apprentices and the former ShadowClan medicine cat.”

Whitestorm hummed. “You don’t think Bluestar and Redtail are reasonable enough to listen?”

Firepaw exchanged a glance with Yellowfang. “It’s not that they’re not reasonable, it’s just…”

Whitestorm sighed, apparently sensing the reasons for Firepaw’s hesitation. “Very well. Let’s not waste any more time.”

* * *

Whitestorm stared at Blackfoot’s retreating back, struggling between loathing and desperation. Flintfang was padding beside him - Whitestorm knew the old grey warrior by reputation. He was keen-eyed and cunning - and loyal. If he sensed something amiss, Whitestorm had no doubt he would alert Blackfoot that something was wrong. If he was too confident - or not confident enough - Flintfang could destroy the whole plan.

Beside him, Sandpaw padded sullenly, exchanging periodic glares with an older grey tabby apprentice - Wetpaw, Whitestorm recalled. On his other side was Firepaw, his eyes darting to and fro among the ShadowClan patrol. They were outnumbered two to one already.

Ahead, Whitestorm saw a frog leap out of a fern. Wetpaw pounced on it, only for Blackfoot to snap at him. Wetpaw stepped back reluctantly, letting the frog limp away into the undergrowth.

“That standard ShadowClan practice?” Sandpaw hissed. “Toying with whatever can’t fight back?”

“Sandpaw!” Whitestorm hissed.

Blackfoot glowered at her over his shoulder. Whitestorm glowered right back, bristling angrily.

Blackfoot snorted and turned back around, leading them on, deeper into ShadowClan territory.

Whitestorm glanced at the patch of ferns as they passed. Firepaw pressed against him briefly, not making eye contact.

Wetpaw sneered. “Are all ThunderClan apprentices this cowardly?”

“Shut your face, kit-stealer!” Sandpaw hissed.

Wetpaw snarled.

“That’s enough,” Flintfang snapped. He glanced at Whitestorm. “Control your apprentices, ThunderClan.”

“Control yours,” Whitestorm snapped back.

“Are you two elders going to keep bickering, or can we get on with this?” Blackfoot snarled.

Sandpaw scoffed. Whitestorm swatted her with his tail and she subsided with a grumble.

As they approached the ShadowClan camp, Whitestorm couldn’t help but look over his shoulder for a pair of green eyes.

* * *

Ravenpaw’s stomach writhed with nerves as he watched Whitestorm, Sandpaw, and Firepaw disappear into the ShadowClan camp.

With the ThunderClan patrol covering for his scent, he’d been able to tail them to the ShadowClan camp like Firepaw had told him to. That had been the easy part.

Now came the hard part - accompanied by a lot of praying that Yellowfang was going to do her part.

(It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. It was just…)

(Well, that he didn’t trust her. Not against her old clan.)

As the tail of the last ShadowClan warrior disappeared into the tunnel, Ravenpaw slunk around the camp’s perimeter. Yellowfang had said the nursery was…   


_ There’s the misshapen fern; there’s the burned stump. One bush, two bush… _

* * *

“What do you mean,  _ no?” _ Whitestorm hissed. At his side, Sandpaw growled.

“I mean no,” Brokenstar repeated, looking  _ unbearably _ smug. He was flanked by the towering Blackfoot and an uneasy-looking Flintfang, whose gaze bore into Whitestorm’s fur. “If Bluestar wants to negotiate, she can do so in person. Anything else is an insult to ShadowClan.”

_ “Stealing kits _ is an insult to ShadowClan,” Firepaw said coolly.

Brokenstar stared down his muzzle at him. Whitestorm held his breath, mentally calculating - if Brokenstar attacked, could Whitestorm stop him?

“It’s Firepaw,” Brokenstar said eventually, “isn’t it?”

Firepaw stared back, lifting his chin defiantly.

“Yes,” Brokenstar murmured. “Yes, I rather think it is.” He took a slow, measured pace forward. “I was warned about you, you know.”

Firepaw tilted his head. “Were you.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You like to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Brokenstar recalled. “And you don’t respect your betters.”

“Sounds like whoever you got your information from made the mistake of thinking they  _ were  _ my better,” Firepaw retorted.

Sandpaw sniggered loudly.

Wetpaw yowled in outrage. Sandpaw egged him on with a hiss. Boulder, sitting some distance away, snarled in defense of his apprentice - Whitestorm growled at him -

Brokenstar snarled. “Enough!” He glowered at Whitestorm. “If you cannot control your apprentice -”

“I don’t  _ need _ controlling!” Sandpaw hissed, lashing her tail.

Webpaw sneered. “Clearly you do -”

Sandpaw lunged at him. Blood sprayed through the air as she raked her claws down his face; Webpaw screeched in sudden agony -

_ “ShadowClan! Attack!” _

* * *

The camp descended into chaos. Firepaw barely had time to grin before Brokenstar had lunged for him; his claws gleamed in the faint sunlight. Firepaw ducked beneath his massive form. He whirled around, lashing out at Brokenstar’s tail as it flew past. Brokenstar yowled in pain; Firepaw’s claws had ripped out a tuft of his fur.

Hissing and spitting in rage, Brokenstar swiped at Firepaw’s head. Firepaw scrambled away, narrowly avoiding the blow. A tortoiseshell she-cat joined him, growling in outrage and matching her blows with Brokenstar’s.

The two cats herded him backwards until Firepaw could feel bramble thorns prickling at his pelt. Firepaw crouched, teeth pulled back in a snarl; Brokenstar yowled in triumph -

* * *

Sandpaw raked her claws down Webpaw’s belly. She sprang to her feet as he retreated, wailing in pain; beside her, Whitestorm was wrestling with Boulder. Before she could single out another enemy, Blackfoot slammed into her, sending her skidding across the dirt.

She yelped as he sank his teeth into her scruff; he shook her hard, sending her flying again. Clawface and a brown-cream she-cat jumped on her, pinning her down. Her throat was dry with fear.   


_ Where was Yellowfang? _

* * *

Whitestorm raked his claws down Boulder’s shoulders, digging in until the larger cat retreated with a hiss, limping away from the battle. He sprang to his feet, yowling a challenge as Ratscar and Applefur crept towards him. The two hesitated, exchanging glances.

Sandpaw cried out in pain at the same time Brokenstar yowled triumphantly. Whitestorm spun around to see his apprentice pinned down by Clawface and Rowanberry and - beyond her, backed against the nursery wall -   


Firepaw crouched before the massive form of Brokenstar, flanked by one of his warriors.

Ratscar lunged for Whitestorm’s flank. Whitestorm batted him away with a snarl.

Sandpaw screeched. Droplets of blood landed on the floor of ShadowClan’s camp.

Whitestorm lunged forward with a roar of outrage. He bowled Clawface over, clipping Rowanberry on the way down. She screeched angrily, leaping on his back as he pinned Clawface to the ground.

“Go!” Whitestorm bellowed at Sandpaw. This wasn’t working, they were too outnumbered -  _ where was Yellowfang? _

Sandpaw staggered to her feet, winded. Whitestorm hissed as Rowanberry’s claws dug into his pelt.

“Is this the might of ShadowClan?” he hissed at the brown tortoiseshell warrior. “Two warriors against an apprentice?”

Clawface swiped at Whitestorm’s face. “No faith in your teaching?” he taunted.

Whitestorm growled, sinking his fangs deep into the meat of Clawface’s shoulder. Clawface screamed - Whitestorm screamed too as Rowanberry’s powerful hind legs scored deep clawmarks into his back. He staggered away from Clawface, letting the tom flee into the woods.

StarClan, he was tired already.

* * *

 

Brokenstar yowled in triumph and lunged forward, claws outstretched. Firepaw rocketed upward, slamming his head into Brokenstar’s vulnerable belly. The mighty leader choked, collapsing sideways into dirt.

Firepaw was upon him in an instant, sinking his fangs into Brokenstar’s exposed throat and biting  _ down _ as blood pooled in his mouth, not stopping until fang met fang.

“Stop it!” the tortoiseshell shrieked, ramming into him.  _ “Stop!” _

Firepaw clung on like a badger, sinking his claws into Brokenstar’s pelt as the leader’s struggles grew weaker and weaker - and then, all at once, they stopped.

The tortoiseshell wailed, hitting Firepaw with such a mighty shove that he was flung clear. “Brokenstar is dead!” she shrieked.

_ Any time now, Yellowfang… _

* * *

 

“Brokenstar is dead!”

Sandpaw gaped as she struggled to her feet, looking over her shoulder to see Firepaw, bloody and defiant, standing over the still body of the ShadowClan leader.  _ He - ? _

Her thoughts went no further as Blackfoot’s full weight slammed into her, bowling her over once, twice, until she scrambled to her feet and hissed defiantly at the ShadowClan deputy. Blackfoot growled menacingly, unsheathing his claws.

Sandpaw backed up warily, trying to gauge Blackfoot’s approach. He was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than her -

That meant she’d have to be smarter.

_ Keep your feet, _ Firepaw whispered in the back of her head.

* * *

Firepaw bowled over the tortoiseshell warrior and leapt onto Blackfoot’s back, sinking his teeth into the deputy’s shoulders.

(This was Blackfoot who stole kits, Blackfoot who was Tigerstar’s right hand during his reign of terror and fought by his side against BloodClan, this was Blackstar who he’d traveled on the Great Journey with, this was -)

(This was none of those cats.)

Sandpaw slashed at Blackfoot’s muzzle as the bigger cat threw Firepaw clear. Firepaw scrambled to his feet and matched her blow for blow, driving back Blackfoot until he lay bloody and gasping at their feet.

A yowl sounded from the entrance of ShadowClan’s camp. Firepaw’s heart soared -  _ Yellowfang! _

“Let’s go!” he called to Sandpaw. Sandpaw bolted towards the camp entrance with Whitestorm on her heels.

Just outside, Yellowfang was waiting. “Hurry,” she urged. “Ravenpaw has the kits. ShadowClan won’t let you just run away.”

Firepaw nodded. “Did you find -?”

“A few.” Yellowfang didn’t elaborate, electing not to waste her breath as she led them back towards the ThunderClan border.

* * *

Sandpaw stumbled through the gorse tunnel that lead into ThunderClan’s camp in a daze.

He’d saved her. Firepaw had  _ saved _ her.

...she was still processing that.

“Sandpaw!”

Sandpaw jumped as Redtail bounded up to her. “Are you all right?” he asked urgently. “Spottedleaf -”

“I’m here.” Spottedleaf appeared at his side almost instantly. “Come along -”

“I’m fine,” Sandpaw protested shakily. “I’m not - it’s not bad -”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Spottedleaf said firmly.

“Where is Firepaw?” Bluestar called. “And the others? Whitestorm? Yellowfang?”

Sandpaw blinked. “Um -”

“We’re here!”

A sigh of relief swept through the camp as Whitestorm pushed his way into the camp, followed by a bloodied Firepaw and a harried Yellowfang.

“All of you, into the medicine den,” Spottedleaf ordered crisply.

“The kits!” Firepaw called. “Did the kits -”

“Ravenpaw brought them back shortly after you arrived,” Redtail assured him.

“He was very brave,” Whitestorm meowed, nudging Firepaw towards the medicine den. “He broke them out of ShadowClan’s camp himself.”

“Are they hurt?” Firepaw demanded, stumbling a little as he trailed after Whitestorm.

Spottedleaf shook her head. “Shaken, as you might imagine, but they’re quite all right. Now, if you  _ would -” _

Redtail licked Sandpaw’s ear. “You too,” he meowed, his eyes shining fondly.

Sandpaw ducked her head and trailed after Firepaw, watching as the tip of his tail disappeared into the ferns.

_ He’d saved her. _

* * *

“I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as a warrior in their turn.”

Sandpaw glowed with anticipation. This was it - this was her  _ warrior ceremony, _ the thing she’d been working towards her entire life.

Next to her, Ravenpaw was practically quivering in anticipation - in comparison, Firepaw looked almost bored. But there was a light in his eyes and a proud tilt to his chin that broke through his cool, unaffected composure.

Sandpaw could have grinned. For all his future knowledge, a warrior ceremony was still special.

“Sandpaw,” Bluestar called. “Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do,” Sandpaw said proudly.

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name,” Bluestar announced. “Sandpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Sandstorm. StarClan honors your courage and spirit, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Bluestar smiled.

“Ravenpaw,” she called. “Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Ravenpaw nodded vigorously. “I do!”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Ravenpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Ravenshadow. StarClan honors your cunning and compassion, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Ravenshadow beamed.

“Firepaw,” Bluestar called, finally. “Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do.” Firepaw’s words sounded like an ancient oath - something written in blood at the founding of the four clans.

Bluestar bowed her head. “Then by the powers of StarClan,” she meowed, “I give you your warrior name. Firepaw, from this moment on you will be known as Fireheart. StarClan honors your guile and strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Her face softened. “I am proud to have you as my warrior. Serve your clan well, young one.”

_ “Sandstorm! Ravenshadow! Fireheart!” _

Sandstorm’s chest swelled with pride as she looked out over her clan. Whitestorm was sitting in the front row, his pelt still scarred from the claws of the ShadowClan warriors. Redtail sat beside him - Frostfur and Goldenflower were nearby, cheering with the rest. Even Greypaw’s eyes were shining and he chanted Fireheart’s name as loud as the others.

Dustpaw was watching from the medicine den. Their eyes met briefly, then he turned away.


	23. Chapter 23

Tallstar limped out of the medicine den with Barkface at his side, still fretting. Brokenstar had ripped out one of his lives during the last attack on their camp and left him with wounds deep enough that he’d been confined to the medicine den for five sunrises, leaving Deadfoot to run the camp.

ShadowClan had been quiet since, a fact that Tallstar was both grateful for and suspicious of. On one paw, the peace and quiet had given WindClan the time to reinforce their camp walls - which they’d only done in the first place thanks to StarClan’s warning - and replenish part of their depleted stocks of fresh-kill.

On the other paw, it meant (in Tallstar’s mind) that Brokenstar was planning something big.

“Deadfoot,” he called out, shrugging off Barkface’s helpful shoulder.

The harried, dark-furred deputy looked over from his conversation with a worried-looking Onewhisker. Something in his expression cleared as he saw Tallstar; he loped over, greeting Tallstar with a short purr. “You’re out of the medicine den,” he noted. “Has Barkface cleared you?”

Barkface _harrumphed_ at Tallstar’s flank.

“He hasn’t not cleared me,” Tallstar pointed out.

Deadfoot’s whiskers twitched. “Fair enough,” he meowed.

Tallstar swished his tail around the camp. “Tell me what’s been happening.”

Deadfoot grunted. “You already know what we’ve managed since the last attack,” he meowed. “Tornear’s hunting patrols scented Clawface this morning and Mudclaw’s scouts reported seeing Brokenstar near the border. ThunderClan scent was on his pelt,” he added, lip curling.

Tallstar’s ear twitched. That was… odd. But he had other concerns. “Were any of our warriors seen?”

Deadfoot shook his head. “None. ShadowClan doesn’t think anyone can hide outside of their precious forests.” His tone was sneering and derisive. Tallstar couldn’t blame him - the other clans rarely gave WindClan the respect it deserved. With ShadowClan placing their camp under siege, he had no doubt that respect had dropped even further.

He looked back at Barkface. “Has StarClan spoken to you again?” he asked hopefully.

Barkface grunted. “Nothing I can make any sense of. There’s a ginger tom that appears most nights, but he never says anything to me.” His ears twitched as the breeze picked up briefly.

Tallstar couldn’t help the spark of hope that lit up in his chest. “Do you know his name?” he asked cautiously. Jake hadn’t been a clan cat, but…

Barkface shook his head. “As I said, he doesn’t speak.”

Tallstar couldn’t keep his whiskers from drooping. If it _was_ Jake, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t pass on any message through Barkface.

Ah, well. It had been an old cat’s hope.

“Then we’ll deal with this ourselves,” he declared. “If RiverClan won’t aid us, we must see if ThunderClan will.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Deadfoot growled. “If there was ThunderClan scent on Brokenstar’s patrol -”

“- it may mean that ThunderClan is already in conflict with ShadowClan,” Tallstar cut in. “I know Bluestar well. I do not believe she would bow before Brokenstar’s demands.”

“You said the same thing about Crookedstar,” Deadfoot reminded him.

Tallstar grunted. “Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “But we will not know until we try.”

* * *

 

Fireheart shivered as the breeze picked up. The sun’s first rays were only just starting to lighten the sky, with the day itself not yet dawning. The greenleaf had been short - barely more than a moon - and already the chill of leaf-fall was settling into his bones.

All through the night, he’d been waiting - even subconsciously - for the aches of old battle wounds and creaking joints to set in. But this was a new body, fresh of injury - for the most part. As he stretched, the wounds he’d received from Tigerclaw twinged, the cold night air having drawn them tight.

At his side, Sandstorm was sitting perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the entrance tunnel. She hadn’t moved the entire night - if Fireheart didn’t know better, he would think she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. (He’d stepped on her tail just to be sure and nearly gotten his ears clawed off for his troubles.)

Ravenshadow had spent most of the night pacing the length of camp, steering carefully clear of the dens to avoid waking anyone up. Now, he was shifting restlessly near the medicine den, his eyes darting around the open clearing.

Fireheart remained at his post at Sandstorm’s side. Her fur was fluffed up against the cold and she cast a baleful glare at the trees as the wind picked up from the direction of the moor.

Cautiously, Fireheart shuffled closer to her so that the tips of their fur brushed. She cast a sharp glance at him, but eventually she leaned against his shoulder. For a long moment they relaxed into the shared warmth, only to spring apart as the lichen draped over the entrance of Bluestar’s den rustled.

She regarded the pair briefly with an expression halfway between puzzled and amused before padding towards them. “Glad to see the sun?” she asked, pausing to meow a greeting to Redtail as he emerged from the warrior’s den.

When Sandstorm and Fireheart nodded, she smiled. “You may speak now,” she assured them. “Your vigils are over. Yours as well, Ravenshadow,” she added.

Ravenshadow shuffled his paws nervously, dipping his head. “Thank you, Bluestar,” he said meekly.

Fireheart rolled his shoulders and sighed. “Finally,” he murmured. “I was starting to think the dawn would never come.”

Sandstorm snorted at him. “Don’t be mouse-brained,” she muttered.

“The great warriors speak!”

Fireheart turned to see Dustpaw standing at the entrance of the medicine den. The words didn’t feel as biting as they should - _he puffed out his chest importantly and mocked, “I’m surprised such heroes even feel the cold!”_

Sandstorm kicked him. “Cut it out,” she growled in an undertone.

Fireheart blinked.

From behind Bluestar, Redtail shot his apprentice a stern look. Dustpaw ducked his head, retreating back into the medicine den.

“Go find something to eat,” Bluestar told them, ignoring Dustpaw entirely, “then rest.”

Fireheart dipped his head and padded towards the fresh kill pile. He sniffed at it, selecting a mouse each for himself, Sandstorm, and Ravenshadow.

Sandstorm had flopped down where she stood, resting her head on her paws and blinking blearily. She looked up as Fireheart dropped a mouse in front of her. “Thanks,” she mumbled, pulling it towards her and beginning to eat. “‘m famished.”

Fireheart purred, passing the second mouse to Ravenshadow before settling down between them and devouring his own mouse.

As he ate, he saw Greypaw peer out of the apprentice’s den before vanishing back inside as soon as he saw Fireheart.

Fireheart’s spirits sank. He adored Greypaw - they were the best and oldest of friends, even if Greypaw didn’t remember all of it. He missed his friend.

“You should talk to him.”

Fireheart glanced at Ravenshadow, who was peering at him with wide, earnest eyes. “Who?”

(Next to him, Sandstorm scoffed.)

“Greypaw,” Ravenshadow went on. “Who else?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Fireheart said airily, unwilling to abandon the charade. “You could have meant Dustpaw. Or Redtail. Or Whitestorm, or -”

Sandstorm swatted him lightly.

“All right, all right,” Fireheart relented. “I will. Promise."

“Good,” Sandstorm grumbled. “It’s been all of a day and I’m already sick of you two not talking.”

“I was having my _vigil -”_

* * *

Firestar groaned as he opened his eyes to see Pinestar’s clearing. He brightened, however, when he saw Jake waiting for him.

“Firestar!” his father called, bounding over. “You’re here! I was waiting _ages -_ Pine said you wouldn’t be asleep until sunrise?”

Firestar nodded. “It’s tradition,” he explained, “when a clan cats earns their warrior name, they guard the camp from sundown until sunup.”

Jake nodded, but the confused look on his face told Firestar that he didn’t really understand. Firestar let it be - some cats simply weren’t meant to be clan cats.

“Anyway,” Jake meowed, “I thought I should tell you that Tallstar’s recovered!”

Firestar brightened. “That’s great!” he meowed. “Is he doing all right? How badly was he injured?”

Jake’s whiskers drooped. Firestar listened grimly as Jake told him the details of Tallstar’s injuries - the lost life, the severe wounds that had confined him to the medicine den for nearly a quarter moon.

“Deadfoot seems like a good cat,” Jake offered. “But he doesn’t trust the other clans.”

Firestar sighed. _In his day…_

His day hadn’t happened yet. It was his responsibility to make sure it did.

“Is there anything else?” he asked. “And where’s Pinestar?”

Jake shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think he was going to talk to Raggedstar - something about ShadowClan,” he offered. “Oh - there was one other thing! Tallstar ordered a patrol to head for ThunderClan territory. He wants to broker an alliance.”

Firestar’s ears pricked up. Tallstar had often been a friend to ThunderClan - the trick would be convincing Bluestar the offer was genuine, after the recent battle with ShadowClan. “Do you recognize any of the cats in the patrol?”

“Deadfoot’s leading it,” Jake offered. “He didn’t want to, but Tallstar insisted.” There was no mistaking the pride in Jake’s voice. “There’s two grey tabbies - a tom with a torn ear and a younger she-cat - maybe his apprentice?”

Firestar nodded. The tom was definitely Tornear, but he couldn’t recall any of Tornear’s apprentices from the old forest - only Harespring, the young WindClan warrior who trained in the Dark Forest. He remembered seeing him at the Great Battle, fighting for the clans.

A good cat led astray. There had been too many of those.

“Thank you, Jake,” he meowed, dipping his head respectfully. “I’ll let Bluestar know.”

Jake nodded several times. “Good,” he meowed. “Good. You - you will help WindClan, won’t you?” he added hopefully.

Firestar nodded. “I will.” _Whether Bluestar agrees to or not - every clan has a place in this forest._ “I -”

“Fireheart!”

Fireheart grunted as a paw jabbed into his ribs, jolting him roughly from his dream. He opened his eyes to see Willowpelt standing over him. On the other side of the den, tucked into an unobtrusive corner, Ravenshadow was grooming himself hastily.

“What is it?” he asked, stretching as he roused himself, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“WindClan scent on the border,” Willowpelt answered. “Bluestar wants you to join the patrol.”

Fireheart nodded. “Who else -?”

“Darkstripe, Ravenshadow, and Greypaw,” Willowpelt told him. Fireheart flicked his ear in distaste - Bluestar had, in a fit of what was surely her madness come back to haunt her, assigned _Darkstripe_ to finish Greypaw’s training following Lionheart’s death.

Still, he nodded. “Seems like a lot of trouble for only three cats.”

Willowpelt narrowed her eyes. “How do you know it’s three cats?”

“What else would it be?”

Fireheart slipped past her, padding across the clearing to where Bluestar, Darkstripe, and Greypaw were already waiting. Greypaw’s fur was fluffed up in indignance and he was glaring at Darkstripe’s uncaring back.

 _An auspicious start,_ Fireheart thought tiredly.

“Fireheart,” Bluestar greeted. “Ravenshadow. I assume Willowpelt told you?”

“She did,” Fireheart confirmed. “Bluestar, if I could have a moment before we leave…?”

“Not now, Fireheart.” Bluestar turned towards the entrance tunnel.

Fireheart stepped with her. “It’s about the WindClan patrol,” he meowed quietly, making sure Darkstripe couldn’t hear him. “Deadfoot’s leading it, along with Tornear and an apprentice. They’re seeking an alliance against ShadowClan.”

Bluestar paused and tilted her head. “You are very well-informed,” she murmured back.

Fireheart shrugged. “I was informed,” he offered.

Bluestar’s whiskers twitched. “So it seems. Can I assume this comes from your, ah, usual source?”

Fireheart dipped his head.

Bluestar hummed. “Did you have dealings with WindClan in the past? You know Deadfoot’s temperament?”

“Not as well as Tallstar’s,” Fireheart admitted, “but yes.”

Bluestar nodded several times. “Stay close,” she instructed. Then, with a wave of her tail, she summoned the rest of the patrol after her.

Darkstripe hissed as he streamed out of the entrance tunnel past Fireheart. Greypaw avoided his gaze entirely.

* * *

They found the WindClan patrol waiting several tail-lengths into ThunderClan territory, at the base of the slope that led to Fourtrees. Deadfoot was pacing anxiously and looked up immediately as the ThunderClan patrol stepped into view. Tornear was sitting on top of a boulder with his apprentice nursing a shoulder wound next to him.

Fireheart regarded her curiously. She looked familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place - perhaps they’d crossed paths in battle once, but he couldn’t picture her in the lake territories at all.

Darkstripe’s lip curled as Deadfoot bristled, but Bluestar spoke up before either tom could snap at the other. “What brings WindClan into ThunderClan territory?” she asked coolly. “Have your noses been so dulled by ShadowClan you cannot smell your own borders?”

Deadfoot growled. “As if we want anything to do with your trees,” he sneered. “We come seeking an alliance against a common enemy.”

“And what enemy is that?” Bluestar countered. “ThunderClan is strong enough to stand on its own.”

Deadfoot glowered, but didn’t rise to the bait. “ShadowClan,” he countered. “They’ve made themselves at home on our moors, trapped our queens and elders in camp. And,” he added slyly, “I hear they’ve been giving you trouble as well.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Darkstripe spat. _“WindClan_ may have trouble defending itself, but -”

“Enough,” Bluestar snapped, accompanied by an angry hiss from Greypaw.

Fireheart cast a worried glance at his friend. He hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with him on the journey here.

He stepped forward. “How fares WindClan?” he called. “I spoke to Onewhisker at the border a few days ago. Do you have many injured?”

“None we can’t treat,” Deadfoot said curtly. “We’re not looking for _charity,_ Firepaw -”

“Fireheart,” Ravenshadow blurted suddenly. “His name is Fireheart.”

Deadfoot glanced back at Ravenshadow. “Fireheart, then,” he meowed slowly. “Regardless, we’re not looking for charity. We want Brokenstar gone - as does ThunderClan, I expect,” he added, turning back to Bluetar.

“ThunderClan has no love for Brokenstar,” Fireheart assured him. Behind him, Darkstripe hissed something outraged-sounding to Bluestar, who silenced him with a word. “Is WindClan prepared for a battle?”

“Always,” Deadfoot snarled. He stared hard at Bluestar. “Do your youngest warriors speak for you now?”

Bluestar flicked her tail dismissively. “Only when they speak well,” she returned. “Do continue.”

Fireheart glanced at her. He wasn’t even a deputy - why was she letting him negotiate for her?

_You were a leader._

Fireheart nearly jumped at Pinestar’s voice in his ear. It felt like forever since he’d heard the old leader - he couldn’t remember the last time Pinestar had spoken outside of a dream.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t think of the last time Pinestar had visited him _in_ a dream. For a while, it had seemed like he’d seen the old leader nearly every night.

Deadfoot turned his gaze reluctantly to Fireheart. “I assume you have a plan?” he sneered, clearly not expecting Fireheart to have one.

Fortunately, Fireheart _did_ have a plan. He had several, in fact, but he had one he thought might actually work.

(Why alter a working formula? Brokenstar would be expecting a sneak attack if he knew ThunderClan was involved, but if there was a way to disguise Ravenshadow’s scent…)

 _Yellowfang,_ he thought.

“You need to increase the numbers inside your camp without Brokenstar realizing what you’ve done,” Fireheart meowed aloud. He turned back to Bluestar. “If Ravenshadow can find a garlic patch or some other way to disguise ThunderClan’s scent, we could send him with Deadfoot’s patrol with Yellowfang.” There was a memory itching at the back of his skull - a snarling proclamation from Yellowfang, a turning of the tide - but he shook it off. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. “At a prearranged time, say -” he glanced up at the sky. It was nearly sundown. “- say at moonhigh, the rest of ThunderClan’s warriors can herd ShadowClan towards somewhere on your territory where they’ll be trapped, preferably near your camp.” He glanced Deadfoot. “It would work best if we had help from one of your clanmates.”

Without waiting for a response, he plowed on. “ShadowClan will be caught from both sides. They’ll be trapped.”

Deadfoot narrowed his eyes. “You want an exchange of hostages?”

“An exchange of assistance,” Fireheart corrected. “Ravenshadow and Yellowfang can help you coordinate with ThunderClan forces and anticipate Brokenstar’s plans.”

“We have strategists of our own,” Deadfoot pointed out. “Not to mention that you ThunderClan cats aren’t used to moving unseen in the plains.”

“True,” Fireheart acknowledged, “but I have faith that Ravenshadow can manage it. Besides, in the _very_ unlikely event he’s caught by ShadowClan, he can disavow association with you. Brokenstar wouldn’t be immediately tipped off that you’re actively plotting against him.”

Deadfoot grunted. “Fine. If your leader agrees to it, I’ll accept your cats. Why do you want one of ours.”

Fireheart was entirely convinced that Deadfoot knew exactly why Fireheart wanted a WindClan warrior among the ThunderClan warriors and was just being difficult. “Like you said,” he meowed, “we don’t know the moor like you do. Having a WindClan warrior will keep your reinforcements from falling into any traps - or half-collapsed tunnels,” he added, unable to keep an edge of irritation out of his voice.

Deadfoot narrowed her eyes. Finally, he swung his head towards Bluestar. “You agree to this?” he demanded.

Bluestar inclined her head, regarding Fireheart with an inscrutable expression. “I do.”

Darkstripe growled under his breath.

Deadfoot nodded curtly. “Tornear,” he called, turning to the grey tabby. “You’ll be going with ThunderClan.”

“But -” Tornear’s apprentice protested.

“Hush, Runningpaw,” Tornear meowed. “We all do our duty to our clan.”

Runningpaw nodded unhappily as Tornear leapt down from the boulder and padded over to join the ThunderClan patrol, exchanging cold looks with Darkstripe and dipping his head politely to Bluestar.

“Ravenshadow,” Bluestar called. “Run back to camp and fetch Yellowfang. You’ll be going with Deadfoot.”

Ravenshadow nodded and shot off, disappearing into the woods like - well, like a shadow.

Fireheart settled his haunches against the soft, springy grass. “Well,” he meowed cheerfully, “I suppose there’s nothing to do now but wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart really breaks out the brain cells this chapter huh.
> 
> Also it's DEADFOOT APPRECIATION HOURS. I love him.


	24. Chapter 24

“Brokenstar again?” Yellowfang rasped, eyeing the WindClan cats irately. “Does that cat ever sleep?”

Deadfoot’s flat stare was all the answer she received.

“Yellowfang,” Bluestar prompted, almost gently.

Yellowfang flicked her tail. “Don’t get your fur in a twist,” she meowed. “I’ll help. Besides,” she added, a little subdued, “you’re my leader now. I’ll do what you ask of me.”

There was a look in Bluestar’s eyes that Fireheart couldn’t quite identify as Yellowfang followed Ravenshadow over to the WindClan deputy’s side. Deadfoot turned to leave, then glanced over his shoulder at Tornear, who stood a little awkwardly next to Darkstripe. (Darkstripe, for his part, was glaring claws at Tornear.)

“StarClan guide your path,” he meowed.

Darkstripe sneered, but Tornear merely dipped his head. “And yours as well,” he returned.

Deadfoot nodded and turned, shouldering through the undergrowth back towards the moors. Yellowfang and Ravenshadow followed almost immediately; Runningpaw, however, darted impulsively towards her mentor and pressed her head into his chest.

“Be careful!” she meowed. “Don’t let the mouse-brains get you down.”

Fireheart noticed that Greypaw ‘accidentally’ trod on Darkstripe’s tail as the older cat opened his mouth to speak.

Tornear purred. “Same goes for you,” he said, licking her ears reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you at moonhigh.”

Runningpaw nodded, and then she was off, hurrying after the rest of her patrol.

“Soft,” Darkstripe spat.

“No softer than your belly,” Tornear returned. He ignored Darkstripe’s indignant yowl and turned expectantly to Bluestar.

Bluestar regarded Darkstripe calmly until his outrage subsided to a grumble, then led their patrol - minus Ravenshadow, plus Tornear - back to ThunderClan’s camp.

Fireheart watched Greypaw as they travelled. His friend’s back was stiff, and Fireheart noticed that he was careful to keep Darkstripe in his field of view at all times. Silently, he resolved to talk to Greypaw before the attack tonight. Experience had taught him that it was never a good idea to go into a battle with a grudge if you could help it. You never knew what could happen. One wrong move, one spate of bad luck - and you were staring at a lifeless body while StarClan welcomed its newest member.

Fireheart shook himself. There was no point in dwelling on what  _ might _ be - he would just have to make sure he spoke to Greypaw. That was all.

* * *

As Bluestar pushed her way through the gorse tunnel into camp, she was greeted by a chorus of yowls.

“What happened? Is WindClan attacking?”

“Are they chasing you?”

As Tornear stepped into the camp clearing behind Darkstripe, the questions turned to hisses and accusations.

_ “Trespasser!” _

“Prey-stealer!”

Tornear bristled angrily, but before he could retort, Bluestar leapt up to the Highrock and yowled for silence.

“ThunderClan has suffered greatly at the claws of Brokenstar,” she meowed, sweeping her gaze imperiously across the clearing. “He has threatened us all, from the youngest kit -” Frostfur wrapped her tail around her kits, drawing them closer to her, “- to our wisest elders.” Rosetail sat neatly at the mouth of the elder’s den, her yellow eyes fixed steadily on her leader. “Even brave Lionheart has been taken from us, slain in a cowardly attack on our nursery.”

Greypaw hissed hatefully. The sentiment rippled across camp.

“But we are not the only cats who have suffered,” she went on. “The noble cats of WindClan have also suffered greatly. Brokenstar has invaded their territory and laid siege to their camp. However, WindClan yet endures - a pawful of brave warriors were able to evade Brokenstar’s forces and travel to our border, to offer an alliance - an alliance to put an end to Brokenstar once and for all!”

Yowls of approval rang out from all ThunderClan. Pride surged through Fireheart’s chest - it had been so long, he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to serve as a warrior under Bluestar in her prime.

Perhaps he’d never known. He’d been so concerned with Tigerclaw, and once he’d left…

He jerked himself back to the present as he felt himself slipping away, about to lose himself in the memories of the past. None of that mattered now. This time, things were different.

“Ravenshadow and Yellowfang prepare from within WindClan,” Bluestar went on, once the caterwauls died down. “Tornear has agreed to aid us from here. Ready yourselves, warriors of ThunderClan - at moonhigh, Brokenstar falls!”

If the din before had been loud, this one was deafening. Tornear looked around, half-bemused and half-contemplative. He leaned over to Fireheart. “Your clanmates seem… very eager to help.”

Fireheart shrugged. “No clan is without flaws,” he admitted, “but Brokenstar deserves everything that’s coming to him. And Tallstar has been an ally to us in the past.”

Tornear looked at Fireheart keenly. Fireheart’s heart skipped a beat as he realized that he didn’t actually know if there had been any history betweenWindClan and ThunderClan before he’d come to the forest.

Tornear made no further comment, however, turning to address Bluestar as she leaped down from the Highrock and padded over to Tornear, signaling for Redtail to join her. Fireheart stepped back, intending to leave Bluestar to her duties - perhaps he could speak to Greypaw - but Bluestar motioned for him to stay.

Fireheart settled awkwardly onto his haunches. He glanced out across the camp; Rosetail hadn’t moved from her post at the elder’s den and had a crafty look in her eyes, Sandstorm was sharing a sparrow with Mousefur, Whitestorm was watching their group with curiosity. He looked very alone, Fireheart realized with a start. He’d gotten used to seeing Whitestorm, Redtail, and Lionheart together - and now Lionheart was gone.

He glanced around, looking for Greypaw, but found no sign of him, only the end of Darkstripe’s tail disappearing into the warrior’s den.

(...he was going to be sharing a den with  _ Darkstripe _ now, wasn’t he?)

(At least it wasn’t Tigerclaw.)

“Fireheart?”

Fireheart jumped at Bluestar’s voice. “Er - yes?” he stammered. “Sorry. What?”

Tornear’s whiskers twitched in amusement.

Bluestar betrayed no signs of annoyance. “I said that, as this plan was your idea, you might outline it in greater detail for us.”

Fireheart nodded, picking up on the unspoken assumption from those present - including Redtail, although he was almost certain that Bluestar had told him the truth about his past (his future? Either way) - that his plan would be modified to the needs of the clan. He didn’t object, per se, but it rankled a tiny bit to know that they expected it to need any extensive modifications. He was  _ good _ at this.

Holding back a sigh, Fireheart swallowed his pride and began to outline the plan he’d proposed to Deadfoot in greater detail.

With Yellowfang inside the camp, she would be able to advise Tallstar on Brokenstar’s strategies, due to her familiarity with ShadowClan. Ravenshadow was perfectly poised to make contact with the ThunderClan cats after night fell (they’d hashed out the meeting point and time before sending Ravenshadow over to Deadfoot).   


He quizzed Tornear on the geography surrounding WindClan’s camp, grumbling in irritation when he realized there was no convenient ravine - WindClan’s camp was  _ actually _ the lowest point, and everything else was either on the plateau or around the edges of it. How frustrating. On the other paw, it meant that Brokenstar wouldn’t have the advantage of terrain in the coming battle.

It was a trade-off. Fireheart wasn’t overly fond of it, but there it was - this was what they had to work with.

As he spoke, he noticed Redtail nodding along thoughtfully, occasionally making suggestions. Bluestar watched impassively, her only reactions a nod or a meow of assent whenever he asked her opinion on something. She was studying Fireheart closely - her expression entirely inscrutable.

* * *

 

Ravenshadow wrinkled his nose as the breeze blew Yellowfang’s pungent smell directly back into his nose. “You stink,” he complained.

From behind him, Runninpaw muttered, “You’re no patch of daisies either.”

Yellowfang snorted. “And just as well! You’d think we’d rolled ourselves in garlic for  _ fun _ with that tone.”

At the front of the patrol, Deadfoot snorted quietly.

Ravenshadow sighed. He knew that it was imperative to disguise their scent - not only would the smell of ThunderClan put Brokenstar on alert, but Yellowfang and Ravenshadow had both been involved in the mission to rescue Cinderkit and Brackenkit from ShadowClan. Even the strong, unpleasant odor of garlic was preferable to being found out by ShadowClan warriors - or even worse, Brokenstar himself.

Ravenshadow shivered. He’d been outside the camp during the attack, digging through the nursery wall to sneak the kits out - he’d finished the job with Yellowfang’s help, once she returned after being unable to find the ShadowClan exiles - but he’d heard the wailing and screeching from the camp as clear as anything, including the cries of pain from his clanmates.

He shuddered to think what might have happened if Yellowfang hadn’t arrived to help him. Whitestorm was a seasoned warrior, Sandstorm and Fireheart both fierce fighters - but they were three cats against and entire clan.

“Scared of Brokenstar?” Runningpaw sneered behind him. “I guess ThunderClan really is filled with scaredy-rabbits!”

“Of course I am,” Ravenshadow snapped back. “He could have as many as eight lives left. He’s attacked both of our clans. Why aren’t  _ you _ scared of him?”

Runningpaw muttered something that Ravenshadow didn’t catch. He turned forward again to see Yellowfang’s eyes glinting with something like approval before she turned back to Deadfoot, sniffing the air and growling.

“He’s passed this way,” she rumbled. “I’d know that smell anywhere.”

Deadfoot grunted. “Not just him,” he agreed, tasting the air for himself. “There’s others. I don’t recognize the smell.”

Yellowfang wrinkled her nose - well, wrinkled it more. It was already pretty squashed. “They smell like Thunderpath,” she growled.

Something itched at the back of Ravenshadow’s mind - something Fireheart had mentioned once, maybe, when they were newly-made apprentices - but the harder he tried to remember the fainter the memory became. His pelt fluffed up nervously; whatever it was he was forgetting, it  _ felt _ important.

“This way,” Deadfoot rumbled. Ravenshadow started as the older cat seemed to disappear from view, with Yellowfang following close behind.

“What are you waiting for, scaredy-mouse?” Runningpaw taunted.

Ravenshadow darted after Yellowfang, gasping soundlessly as his paws slid on hard-packed dirt and deposited him at the bottom of a deep, hidden gully, the top entirely concealed by overgrown long grass and dry brush.

Runningpaw slid down behind him - much more gracefully - sniggering the entire time. Deadfoot shot her a reproachful look and led the patrol down the ravine.

“ShadowClan keeps falling into these,” he said with a faint sneer. “Fools can’t see what’s in front of their own muzzles. Keep an eye out,” he added. “Try not to let any of them land on you.”

Yellowfang grunted. Ravenshadow noticed that she was limping a bit worse than usual. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Do these go all the way to your camp?” she called to Deadfoot, keeping her voice low.

Deadfoot shook his head. “No. Moor’s flat around camp. Nowhere to hide for us or them.”

_ Mouse dung. _ A quick glance at Yellowfang’s face told Ravenshadow that she was thinking something along the same lines. Although maybe a little stronger.

They continued on in silence, with Yellowfang continuing to limp and pretending she wasn’t. Ravenshadow watched her anxiously, ready to offer a supporting shoulder, but every time he so much as drifted towards her helpfully she bared her teeth at him and he scuttled away.

(Runningpaw was definitely laughing at him. She hadn’t make a sound, but he could  _ feel _ it.)

Deadfoot halted abruptly. Yellowfang nearly stumbled into his backside with a low hiss.

“This way,” Deadfoot meowed, pointing to a steep, rocky path. Yellowfang did not groan.

* * *

 

“How do you know all this?” Tornear asked Fireheart curiously.

Fireheart strugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I picked it up here and there,” he answered vaguely, glancing towards Redtail and Bluestar.

“Indeed.” Bluestar sounded sad and amused at the same time. “We’re quite proud of him.”

Tornear nodded. “With good reason, I see,” he observed. Then he stepped back. “I have no further contributions to make, Bluestar.”

“Nor do I,” Redtail added.

Fireheart couldn’t help the glow of pride in his chest. Both toms had offered only scant suggestions - Tornear had corrected Fireheart on the length of grass in the moors (it was longer than Fireheart remembered, and easier to hide in) and Redtail had suggested a three-pronged attack instead of a two-pronged attack. Fireheart had jumped on the idea eagerly - two flanking attacks plus an attack from behind would drive the ShadowClan forces into a panic.

The only problem was making sure they had enough warriors in each party.

“Bluestar?” Redtail prompted.

Bluestar blinked. “I agree with the plan as well,” she meowed. “Fireheart, Redtail, did you have any suggestions for the group leaders?”

Fireheart studied Bluestar for a moment, something chilly and nervous coiling around his spine - like a snake that had stayed out in the cold. This...wasn’t right.  _ Bluestar _ was supposed to make those kinds of decisions.

Tornear broke the silence with an awkward cough before it could stretch to long. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to grab something to eat before the battle,” he meowed. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” Redtail agreed hurriedly. “You are our guest. Please, take something from the fresh-kill pile.”

Tornear dipped his head gratefully and padded away. Whitestorm rose from his place and padded over to the WindClan warrior, meowing a friendly greeting. Fireheart looked away as the pair started to chat, redirecting his focus back to Bluestar, who was still looking at him expectantly.

“Well…” Fireheart ran through a list of all the clan cats. They needed to keep enough of a force here to defend the nursery, but for a battle of this size, they’d need a medicine cat on sight - and not one that was trapped inside the WindClan camp, either. Yellowfang, he knew, was perfectly capable, but her job was Tallstar’s advisor. Doubling up her duties was sure to lead to disaster.

Then there were the party leaders - Redtail was one, Bluestar another, but there was still the matter of the third flank.

“Is Whitestorm healed from the battle with ShadowClan?” he meowed, looking between Redtail and Bluestar.

It was Redtail who answered. “Not yet,” he meowed. “He’s fit enough for a patrol, but not for a battle of this magnitude.”

Bluestar’s face furrowed in worry. Fireheart nodded. “He can lead the camp defenses then,” he suggested. Bluestar nodded. “A fine idea,” she agreed. “Who else would you suggest?”

“Redtail for the left flank and of course yourself for the center.” Fireheart cast a glance around camp. Without Lionheart, Darkstripe was next most senior warrior - and Fireheart wouldn’t trust him with a dead mouse. Goldenflower had a good head on her shoulders, but Swiftkit was still in the nursery and (if the gossip from Frostfur was correct) she was pregnant again already.

(He didn’t want to hope for anything - he thought it would be too cruel, to Goldenflower most of all.)

(But he missed Brambleclaw.)

Sandstorm would be a good candidate in a few seasons, but for now she was a freshly-made warrior, barely out of her apprenticeship. He wasn’t going to put that kind of responsibility on her shoulders so soon.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted.

“What about you?” Bluestar asked.

Fireheart blinked. “Me?”

Redtail glanced at Bluestar. “Are you sure?” he murmured. “I know he’s...his circumstances are unusual, but he’s still young.”

Bluestar shrugged off his concerns. “I have faith in Fireheart’s abilities,” she meowed. “Fireheart, would you lead the third flank?”

Fireheart bowed his head. “I’d be honored, Bluestar,” he said quietly.

Bluestar yawned. “Well, that’s that settled then.”

“Indeed.” Redtail still looked troubled. “I should speak to Whitestorm, allow him to pick the cats he wants to stay and help protect the camp.”

Bluestar nodded her assent and Redtail made a beeline for Whitestorm, who was sitting companionably with Tornear.

“Bluestar…” Fireheart meowed tentatively, watching Whitestorm step away to speak to Redtail. Tornear looked almost...disappointed. “Are you feeling… all right?”

“Of course I am,” Bluestar assured him. “Don’t worry about me, Fireheart. You have enough to be getting on with.”

And with that, she wandered off, leaving Fireheart to divvy up the rest of the clan into the three flanking groups.

Brilliant.

He’d ask StarClan to save him, but they had a rather poor track record when it came to that.

* * *

 

Ravenshadow shook out his fur as soon as he was out of the tunnel.

“Watch it!” Runningpaw hissed behind him, ducking out of the shower of dust and glaring at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shuffling off to the side.

Deadfoot ignored them both, as he’d been doing for most of the journey. “Tallstar!” he called. “We have news!”

Ravenshadow watched as a black-and-white tom raised his head at Deadfoot’s call. He bounded towards them with a grace that belied the ample grey around his muzzle.

“Deadfoot,” he meowed warmly. “You’ve returned - where is Tornear?” His eyes narrowed. “And why have you brought ShadowClan’s medicine cat here?”

“I am not of ShadowClan any longer,” Yellowfang rasped, before Deadfoot could get a word in edgewise. “I am a warrior of ThunderClan. Bluestar sent the two of us to help.” He flicked her tail towards Ravenshadow, who dipped his head respectfully to the WindClan leader.

“Two cats,” Tallstar murmured. He turned back to Deadfoot, obviously waiting for an explanation.

Deadfoot cleared his throat. “ThunderClan will help us,” he assured his leader, explaining the agreement he’d reached with ThunderClan.

Tallstar nodded as he absorbed his deputy’s words. “Two clans against one,” he murmured. “ShadowClan number many, but not that many.” A new light gleamed in his eyes. “Moonhigh, you say?”

Deadfoot nodded.

Tallstar straightened. “Then we await their signal. Rest up, all of you. You will need your strength.”

* * *

The cold light of the moon turned the moor to a shining sea of silver. Led by Tornear, the three flanking patrols slipped into position, their scent concealed by the wind and the ample patches of wild garlic along the forest’s edge.

The wind blew steadily as the moon crept higher and higher in the sky. There were no words exchanged between the ThunderClan warriors - they crouched among the long grass in silence, awaiting Bluestar’s signal.

As he strained his ears for Bluestar’s signal, Fireheart realized with a jolt of fear that in the frenzy of preparation, he’d completely forgotten to speak to Greypaw.

And now moonhigh was upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just general WindClan appreciation hours, with special mentions for Tornear, Deadfoot, Tallstar, and Runningpaw. (Runningpaw is a terrible little gremlin and I adore her.)
> 
> Also, keep an eye on Tornear and Whitestorm. You never know how these time-travel changes can sneak up on you...


	25. Chapter 25

Ravenshadow couldn’t keep his fur from fluffing up nervously as he slunk through WindClan’s tunnels alone.

The moon was bright overhead, peeking through in the sliver of exposed sky above him, but the towering walls of dirt teetered ominously over him, threatening to collapse at any moment. They wouldn’t (probably) - they’d held for this many moons, after all - but Ravenshadow couldn’t stop the fear crawling up his spine as he thought of all the  _ what-ifs. _

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to dying at all, but he  _ really _ didn’t want to die buried in WindClan territory, struggling for air, choking on dirt -

He shivered and moved faster. The less he thought about it, the better.

Had he gone far enough? Was he past the ShadowClan forces? Ravenshadow stopped to listen, cocking his head for any sounds of movement above. He couldn’t catch any scents from outside the tunnel, but if he could -

“Can we hurry this up?”

Ravenshadow froze as a young tom whined above him.

“Shut up, Oakpaw,” another cat snapped. “Rowanberry said she smelled something weird earlier, and Brokenstar wants  _ us _ to check it out.”

Someone - it sounded like the first cat, Oakpaw - snorted.

Ravenshadow held his breath. Footsteps padded closer - and closer - and closer -

“Everything smells weird here anyway,” Oakpaw muttered. “What kind of cats don’t live under trees?”

“Shut up and keep your nose open.”

Ravenshadow pinned himself to the ground as two lithe forms leapt lightly overhead, temporarily blotting out the light of the moon.

“Eugh,” Oakpaw groused. “Did something die here?”

“That’s garlic, mouse-brain.”

Ravenshadow tensed. That was  _ him. _

“Whatever it is, it smells like crowfood…”

Oakpaw’s grumbling faded into the distance. Ravenshadow didn’t relax until - okay, he didn’t relax  _ ever, _ but he let a little of the tension leak out of his shoulders once the pair were well and truly out of earshot.

They  _ could _ be lying in ambush, of course. That was definitely a possibility.

Cautiously, Ravenshadow clambered halfway up the steep walls, biting back a hiss as one of his claws snagged on a root.  _ Mouse-dung! _

He scrambled the rest of the way out, his eyes darting to and fro. He saw no sign of Oakpaw and his companion (the name was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite…) and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Ravenshadow glanced behind him to see the slight swell of the edge of WindClan’s camp. He was further than he’d expected - he was going to have to hurry if he wanted to reach the ThunderClan forces in time.

* * *

The stars twinkled in the clear black sky as a faint silhouette slipped from the grass to whisper in Fireheart’s ear.

At his back, he could feel Sandstorm vibrating with nervous excitement between the steadier presence of Runningwind. He glanced at her over his shoulder and found leaf-green eyes shining back at him, full to the brim with anticipation.

He signaled with his tail.  _ Follow me. _

Then he sprang forward in silence, leaving Ravenshadow to alert the other parties waiting in the long grass.

Pinestar’s voice echoed distantly in his ear.  _ Well done, Firestar. _

The grass rustled. A ShadowClan sentry frowned - and then ThunderClan was upon them.

Brokenstar yowled a command as his makeshift camp was surrounded on three sides, suddenly hemmed against the impenetrable walls of the WindClan camp. Hisses and snarls issues from the entrance tunnel, sending an apprentice fleeing towards the ThunderClan lines where he was pinned down effortlessly by Willowpelt.

“Oakpaw!” Fireheart recognized the speaker as Wetpaw - although judging by the worry on his face, it might be Wet _ foot _ now, with Oakpaw as his new apprentice.

_ That was fast. _

“Bluestar,” Brokenstar sneered, catching Fireheart’s full attention immediately. “Is this what ThunderClan has been reduced to, then? A rabble of busybodies, summoned by the mewls of helpless kits? And I see you’ve brought your young protege,” he added, fixing his orange eyes on Fireheart. “Fireheart, you named him? How...optimistic.”

Sandstorm snarled behind him. “He’s more a warrior than  _ you,” _ she hissed.

Brokenstar spat. “Kittypet  _ fool. _ No cat of  _ his _ bloodline could ever be a real warrior.”

Redtail growled.

Brokenstar ignored him. “Come on, then, Bluestar,” he called. “If you insist on this farce - let us fight, and may the best clan win!” He bared his teeth. “After we’re finished, it will be nothing to storm your camp. ShadowClan is always looking for more warriors…”

Fireheart growled as Brokenstar’s threat dangled menacingly in the air. Bluestar stared back at him, her face stony and her eyes cold.

“I do not see Blackfoot among your warriors,” she said eventually. “How odd. Do you have so little faith in your own deputy?”

Brokenstar laughed. “In that weakling? Hardly. I should thank you,” he added, turning his head back towards Fireheart. “You showed me just how unfit he was to be a clan cat. I have a  _ new _ deputy now - one I’m told  _ you  _ -” he turned to Redtail with a smirk, “were  _ intimately  _ familiar with.”

“Enough.” Bluestar’s voice cut like ice through Redtail’s strangled hiss. “This does not have to come to violence. Return to your own territory, and no blood need be shed.”

Brokenstar laughed. “Return?  _ Return? _ I don’t think so. If WindClan can’t defend their own moors, they don’t deserve to have them!

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “So be it.” She threw back her head and yowled,  _ “ThunderClan, attack!” _

Fireheart lunged directly for Brokenstar, crashing into the massive tabby with enough force to send him staggering away from Bluestar.

_ “You,” _ Brokenstar spat. “You mouse-brained, soft-blooded  _ fool -” _

Fireheart swiped at Brokenstar’s muzzle, but the leader reared back to avoid the blow. Fireheart wormed out of the way as the massive tabby’s front paws slammed into the earth where Fireheart’s shoulders had been.

“You have no idea,” Brokenstar hissed, advancing. “No  _ idea _ what’s coming for this forest. What ThunderClan is too weak to use,  _ I _ am strong enough to control.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Fireheart rasped. “You can’t control Tigerclaw. He’ll never be satisfied with a deputyship, or  _ waiting _ . You’ve made an adder your denmate and you can’t even see its fangs.”

“Pretty words won’t save you,” Brokenstar growled. He lunged - Fireheart shot upward, aiming to catch Brokenstar in the chest as before, but Brokenstar twisted out of the way. Fireheart landed awkwardly, stumbling as his paw twisted beneath him - and Brokenstar was upon him, pinning him to the ground. Pain shot up his twisted leg, turning his vision white for the half-second Brokenstar needed to toss him off his feet.

Fireheart yowled, trying to twist his way out of the grip, but Brokenstar’s full weight was bearing down on his chest and he was gasping for air within moments.

A high-pitched yowl cut through the colorless fog descending over his vision. A ball of grey tabby fur sprung from the melee around them to land on Brokenstar’s back.

The weight on Fireheart’s chest easeed and he sucked in a wheezing breath, scrambling to his feet and staggering back  _ \- ow, he definitely hurt something _ \- and taking in the truly astounding sight of Greypaw clinging onto Brokenstar’s back.

Then he realized that  _ Greypaw was clinging onto Brokenstar’s back _ and Brokenstar was rolling on the ground and  _ mouse dung _ Greypaw was  _ pinned _ \-   


Fireheart fastened his teeth into Brokenstar’s scruff - the leader screeched in pain and outrage and no small amount of fear - and dragged him away, staggering as shooting pains wracked his injured foot. As Brokenstar flailed, scoring his claws down Fireheart’s shoulder, Greypaw scrambled to his feet and sank his teeth into Brokenstar’s leg. His fur was torn out in clumps and there was blood soaking into the fur along his side.

A snarl heralded the arrival of Redtail, flanked by Longtail and Deadfoot. “Go,” Redtail snapped at them. “Get out of here. We’ll deal with  _ him.” _

Fireheart’s head spun. He managed to nod.

“Lean on me,” Greypaw told him, appearing at his side.

Blood soaked into Fireheart’s fur where his side pressed against Greypaw’s. “You’re hurt -”

“Yeah, that’s what the medicine cat is for.” Greypaw sounded so drained - he shouldn’t be  _ that _ tired. “C’mon -”

Spottedleaf, with Tornear and Dustpaw’s help, had set up a temporary medicine den in the shelter of a gnarled bush not far from where ThunderClan’s forces had originally gathered. By the time the pair of them reached it, they were supporting each other in equal measure - Fireheart’s foot was splintering agony, but Greypaw was practically falling asleep on his paws.

“Stay with me, mouse-brain,” Fireheart muttered, practically dragging Greypaw the last few tail-lengths towards Spottedleaf.

Dustpaw shambled towards him, his gait still awkward from the last battle against ShadowClan. “I’ve got him,” he told Firepaw, pulling Greypaw across his shoulders and carrying him the last few pawsteps.

“Patch him up,” Spottedleaf ordered Dustpaw brisky, “just like I showed you -”

Dustpaw nodded and darted off.

Spottedleaf frowned at Fireheart’s leg. “It’s not broken,” she told him, assuaging his worst fears. “But you can’t fight on it.”

“I have to,” Fireheart protested. “The others -”

“Will manage,” Spottedleaf told him firmly. “Have some faith in your clanmates, Fireheart.”

“But…” Fireheart faltered. He didn’t want to be a liability on the battlefield - but he couldn’t just wait here, not knowing if they were winning or who was safe. He tried to get to his feet, but Spottedleaf still had a hold of his leg and he fell back immediately. “I have to help,” he insisted.

“Fireheart.” Spottedleaf’s eyes softened. “I know what you are struggling with. But you do not need to be our savior in every battle. Allow us our own lives.”

Tears welled in Fireheart’s eyes. “I’m  _ trying.” _

* * *

Redtail bared his teeth at the sight of Brokenstar’s tail disappearing into the night. “Run, then, coward!” he yowled. “Not such a fair fight against a grown warrior, is it?”

Next to him, Longtail let out a harsh, wild laugh.   


Deadfoot hissed triumphantly. “He won’t be back any time soon,” he spat.

“Good,” Redtail growled.

He spun around. The fight was starting to wind down - between the ThunderClan flanks and WindClan’s chokepoint at the tunnel, there was simply nowhere for the ShadowClan cats to maneuver.   


“Deadfoot!”

Redtail wheeled around to see a plump black-and-white tom -  _ Barley, _ he realized - approaching at breakneck pace.

“What are you doing here?” Deadfoot demanded.

“It’s -” Barley gasped for air. “There’s reinforcements. I saw them crossing the Thunderpath - they’ll be here any moment - Deadfoot, it’s -”

Before Barley could finish, an all-too-familiar yowl cut through the night, chilling him to the bone.

_ “BloodClan! Attack!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I know this is really short but hear me out  
> it's 3:30am and I may or may not have the flu


	26. Chapter 26

Redtail stared at the ridge above them. There, silhouetted against the moon, was Tigerclaw, his brown fur turned nearly black in the moonlight. Redtail caught a glimpse of another cat, dwarfed by Tigerclaw’s bulk - black-furred with ice blue eyes that pierced through the darkness, a white paw that gleamed in the silvery light of the stars - before half a dozen warriors pour into the bloodied hollow.

A massive black-and-white tom led the charge, lunging for Redtail’s throat. Redtail wove to the side, nearly colliding with Deadfoot as the WindClan deputy wrestled with a ginger tom nearly twice his size.

Redtail’s opponent swiped at him again - Redtail ducked under the blow, his breath catching in his throat as he realized that his opponent was wearing a kittypet collar studded with  _ teeth. _

Who  _ were _ these cats?

Deadfoot yowled in pain. Redtail glanced towards him and paid for his distraction as the black-and-white tom’s claws ripped through his ear. He hissed, backing away as blood trickled down the side of his face, matting in his fur.

BloodClan - Fireheart had mentioned them, hadn’t he, when he’d first come to ThunderClan? Redtail couldn’t recall everything that had been said - especially while he was concentrating on dodging the endless blows.

They had a clan’s name -  _ StarClan, that was a close one, did this cat never tire? _ \- but they weren’t a clan.

An opening - Redtail lashed out with his claws, lightning fast, scoring a shallow wound across the black-and-white tom’s muzzle. The other tom snarled, eyes narrowing to slits - he lunged forward suddenly, ramming his shoulder into Redtail’s chest.

The teeth on the tom’s collar bit into Redtail’s flesh as he was flung to the side. He skidded awkwardly, shaking his head to clear it -   


Tornear appeared from nowhere, leaping atop the massive tom’s shoulders and sinking his fangs into his shoulders. The tom yowled, trying to throw Tornear free, but Redtail laid the cat’s cheek open with his claws.

Blood sprayed through the air, spattering hot and sticky across Redtail’s face. The tom screeched in pain - Tornear scrambled back as he turned and fled.

“Deadfoot,” Redtail blurted. The WindClan deputy’s opponent had been nearly as big -

“Fine,” Tornear gasped out. “StarClan, what do those cats  _ eat?” _

Redtail snorted. He looked around for Bluestar (how many lives did she have left? Two? Three? He  _ worried - ) _

“Brokenstar!” Redtail shivered - it was so  _ strange _ to hear Tigerclaw, of all cats, call out to Brokenstar as an equal instead of a bitter enemy.

They’d been friends, and more. They’d shared a nest. How could Redtail not have seen Tigerclaw for who he really was?

“Call a retreat!” Tigerclaw continued -  _ there _ he was. Redtail dropped into a crouch - between the chaos of the battlefield and the clouds drifting across the sky, if he could just -

“I never took you for a coward, Tigerclaw!” Brokenstar shouted back, a sneer coloring every syllable. Some part of Redtail, the part deep in his chest that still  _ cared, _ despite everything, snarled at the insult. “You would run from a fight like this?”

Redtail threw himself forward before Tigerclaw could reply, knocking the larger cat off his paws and sending them both rolling into the long grass. Brokenstar yowled in the background, but it was all buzzing in Redtail’s ears - he was focused solely on the burning amber eyes beneath him.

_ “Traitor,” _ Redtail rasped.

Tigerclaw spat contemptuously, lying still as he spoke. “You could have come with me,” he growled. “It was never  _ personal.” _

Redtail’s vision blurred as his eyes welled with tears. “Never - I  _ loved you!” _ he shouted. “You fox-hearted snake-eater, I  _ loved you, _ and this is what you give me?” His breath rasped harshly in his throat as he spoke. “Did you  _ ever _ care?”

Tigerclaw’s eyes glittered coldly, like chips of amber ice. “Should I have?”

Redtail gasped as white-hot pain seared across his belly. His legs went weak - he stumbled backwards, staring at the trail blood coating Tigerclaw’s hind claws.

His blood.

He stared up at Tigerclaw, still not quite believing it. “You…”

Tigerclaw rose his feet, muscles rippling with smooth power underneath his pelt. “Me,” he rumbled. “Farewell, Redtail. Say hello to Lionheart for me.”

* * *

 

“What’s happening?” Fireheart demanded, trying to rise to his feet for the third time.

For the third time, Spottedleaf yanked him back down unceremoniously. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” she said sharply. “You’re  _ injured, _ if you haven’t forgotten.”

“I think ShadowClan’s retreating!” Dustpaw reported excitedly. “No - no, wait, Brokenstar’s rallying them again - I’ve lost track of Redtail,” he added, anxiety coloring his words.

Spottedleaf sighed in exasperation. “No future as a medicine cat, that one,” she muttered.

“StarClan, I hope not,” Dustpaw muttered back, just loud enough for Spottedleaf to hear.

“Well, you’ve got the attitude for it,” Fireheart remarked, craning his neck. “Dustpaw -”

“I’m looking, I’m looking - oh, there’s Bluestar, she’s doing okay -”

“Do you see Sandstorm?”

“Um…”

Fireheart lashed his tail anxiously. He couldn’t remember a battle he’d sat out while leaving Sandstorm to fend for herself - he had always been by her side. They fought  _ together, _ always. They did just about everything together, and now she was alone on a battlefield with Tigerclaw - and  _ BloodClan. _

He waited with bated breath, but no more updates were incoming as Dustpaw was drawn back to his duties helping Spottedleaf with the injured.   


Greypaw was still curled up on a patch of soft grass, his ribs rising and falling steadily. There was a marigold poultice plastered to his side and his eyes were heavy.

Fireheart worried about him too.

A caterwaul cut through the air, followed by a chorus of triumphant yowls.

“ShadowClan’s retreating!” Dustpaw called, bounding forward to peer through the grass. “I don’t know where Tigerclaw -  _ oh, mouse-dung -” _

Fireheart shot to his feet, stumbling as his wounded leg gave out beneath him. Dustpaw scrambled back as Tigerclaw, bloody-clawed and snarling, burst out of the grass and swatted Dustpaw aside with one paw. His eyes fixed on Fireheart and he snarled, low and menacing.

Fireheart snarled back.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Greypaw slowly rising into a crouch.

“You’ve failed,” Fireheart rasped, determined to keep the exiled warrior’s attention. “Seems to be a recurring theme with you.”

Tigerclaw growled. “You have no idea what’s been set in motion,” he rumbled. He stalked forward. “And you won’t live to see it.”

Behind Fireheart, Spottedleaf hissed.

Tigerclaw glanced away for just a moment, his eyes lighting up as they landed over Fireheart’s shoulder.

Fireheart clawed at his face just as Dustpaw rose and leapt in one smooth motion, digging his claws into Tigerclaw’s shoulders. Greypaw sprung as well, sinking his teeth into one of Tigerclaw’s hind legs.

Tigerclaw bellowed in pain, kicking Greypaw in the fact and trying to shake Dustpaw off. The tabby apprentice clung on like a tick, growling behind a mouthful of Tigerclaw’s fur.

Fireheart lunged, grappling Tigerclaw’s massive head with his front paws and clawing at his chest and neck with his hind claws.

Or that’s what he  _ tried  _ to do.

Tigerclaw swung his head, catching Fireheart in the ribs with his broad muzzle and tossing him aside. For a moment, Fireheart lay stunned - Dustpaw screeched, and the sound of scuffling grass and hissing cats filled the air.

“Tigerclaw!”

Fireheart’s blood froze.

_ Scourge. _

“Don’t waste time!” Scourge spat. “Your  _ ShadowClan _ was a waste of effort. We return to the Twolegplace, where you will  _ explain yourself.” _

Dustpaw jeered. Fireheart heaved himself up in time to see Tigerclaw follow Scourge’s small black form into the night, glancing over his shoulder with a poisonous stare.

Fireheart stared back.

* * *

The time after the battle was always the worst.

Fireheart watched anxiously as ThunderClan warriors staggered towards the border, leaning on each other in exhaustion. They had won - despite BloodClan, and Tigerclaw, Brokenstar’s arrogance had defeated him. ShadowClan was scattered and broken, and WindClan stood free and proud once more.

“Bluestar tells me the battle plan was your doing,” Tallstar had meowed, padding up to Fireheart after the battle. His greying muzzle was marred by clawmarks, but his eyes were bright and his steps were steady.

“I suppose,” Fireheart had allowed, dipping his head.

Tallstar had bowed his head. “Then you have my deepest thanks.”

WindClan had since returned to the walls of their camp to nurse their wounds and rebuild their territory. ThunderClan had rallied to Bluestar’s battered side and prepared to make the long walk back to their camp.

Of all of the warriors, Redtail was the worst injured. His stomach had been clawed open by Tigerclaw and he was being carried by Longtail and Mousefur. Spottedleaf walked beside him, her face pinched with worry. Dustpaw stumbled along behind the party, his eyes flat and tired. Greypaw trailed next to him, steady and constant.

Fireheart scanned the assembled warriors desperately.

Where was Sandstorm?

“Hey, mouse-brain -”

Fireheart nearly collapsed in relief. “You’re all right!”

Sandstorm stared at him quizzically. “Um, yeah. You okay? Should I make a note not to approach from behind anymore?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Fireheart assured her, taking a few deep breaths. “I just… couldn’t find you,” he meowed, once his voice was steadier.

Sandstorm blinked. “Oh. Well. Yeah. I’m fine. Just a couple scratches.”

Fireheart raked his gaze across her pelt - and sure enough, there were thin dark lines on her shoulders, marked by patches of missing fur. “You’re sure?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “I mean, that it’s not worse?”

Sandstorm scowled at him. “I’m fine. Spottedleaf has enough to worry about without you dragging me over with your fussing.”

Fireheart couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at Redtail.

“He’ll be okay,” Sandstorm meowed. She sounded like she was trying to convince himself. “Spottedleaf knows what she’s doing.”

Fireheart pressed himself against her shoulder. He had not known Spottedleaf for very long. He was not the cat to pass judgement on her skills.

_ I hope so. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, although not as short as the last one. Don't think BloodClan's gone for good - Scourge cut his losses here, but he has a taste of the forest now.


	27. Chapter 27

Brokenstar was  _ furious. _

“You promised me  _ warriors, _ Tigerclaw,” he snarled, his ragged pelt fluffed up to twice its usual size as he glowered at the exiled warrior.

Tigerclaw glowered back. He was still smarting from Scourge’s call to retreat - the squirrelly little had fixed him with a look up utter disdain when Brokenstar refused to retreat as planned, recalling his warriors and fleeing into the night like  _ cowards. _

_ “I _ was promised warriors,” Tigerclaw returned, refusing to back down. This was not  _ his _ doing. This was Scourge’s fault, not his.

Brokenstar rounded on Scourge, who sat unruffled on a tree stump, cleaning his paws delicately. “You betrayed us,” he rumbled. “You swore to pit your warriors against our enemies, and you call a retreat as soon as you arrive!”

Even from his place on the stump, Scourge was only just at Brokenstar’s eye level. He stared at the ShadowClan leader with icy disdain. “You were called to retreat,” he meowed, “and you did not. I have no time to entertain your ego.”

“You don’t get to make that call,” Brokenstar snarled. “This is  _ my _ forest. You obey  _ my _ commands.”

Scourge looked him with utter disdain. “BloodClan follows my commands, Brokenstar, and mine alone. You would do well to remember that.”

Tigerclaw watched as Brokenstar stared down the scrawny rogue leader. For a moment, he thought Brokenstar was going to lunge, to crush the arrogant creature in his jaws - but then he turned away with a snarl and stalked off towards the rest of his warriors, gathered at the edge of the forest and nursing their wounds.

Scourge turned his icy gaze onto Tigerclaw.  _ “This _ is the cat you expect to rule the forest?” he said disdainfully. “An arrogant fool with nothing but dust between his ears?”

“I never said it would be  _ Brokenstar _ who ruled the forest,” Tigerclaw said.

Scourge tilted his head curiously. A new gleam had entered his eyes - Tigerclaw had not only his attention, but now his interest.

“After Blackfoot’s failure, Brokenstar threw him out of the clan.” Tigerclaw flicked his tail dismissively - he hadn’t been present for ThunderClan’s counter-raid on ShadowClan, but he’d been regaled with the tale by a furious Brokenstar after returning from the Twolegplace once he’d fulfilled his obligation to Scourge to aid BloodClan’s… recruitment efforts. The loss of the white kittypet had been a shame - Tigerclaw had thought he would be a good addition to BloodClan’s numbers, but Bone had evidently disagreed. A deal was a deal, and Tigerclaw wanted Scourge on  _ his _ side, so he’d done what their contract obliged him. It was only a kittypet after all.

“He has yet to pick a successor,” Tigerclaw continues, settling his haunches on the ground comfortably. ShadowClan territory had too many blasted pine needles. “But who better than the cat who brought him strong allies? Once the decision is made, well,” he shrugged. “If anything were to happen…”

Scourge hummed. “Your leader does not seem pleased with this alliance you’ve brokered,” he pointed out dryly, flicking an ear in the direction Brokenstar had left. “What makes you so certain he’ll favor you at all?”

Tigerclaw allowed himself a small, grim smile. “That would be unfortunate,” he meowed. “If he were to die without naming a successor, the clan would be in chaos.”

* * *

“I can’t believe we fought  _ BloodClan,” _ Barley said, for the sixth time.

Ravenshadow purred as he approached. “Your warning helped,” he meowed, offering Barley a mouse from the fresh-kill pile.

Fireheart sniggered into his paws. He hadn’t been privy to the details of Ravenpaw’s life on the farm after he’d left ThunderClan, but it seemed his hunch about his friend’s relationship with Barley was correct.

The loner had been invited back to the ThunderClan camp to rest  for the night before returning to his farm - the WindClan camp was too battered to offer any shelter, but both Bluestar and Tallstar were grateful for the risk Barley had taken. Fireheart had barely needed to suggest offering Barley shelter for the night before Bluestar had agreed.

He looked up as Sandstorm approached from the medicine den, looking haggard. “Hi,” he greeted, nudging half his squirrel towards her. “Is Redtail…?”

“Dustpaw’s still with him,” she meowed, flopping down next to him and accepting the squirrel with a nod of thanks. “Although Spottedleaf might kick him out if he doesn’t -”

Across the clearing, Dustpaw yowled as he stumbled out the medicine den, his fur fluffed up indignantly.

“ - stop hovering,” Sandstorm finished.

“But is he going to be all right?” Fireheart pressed. He’d become almost fond of the ThunderClan deputy in the preceding moons - more than ever, he could appreciate just how heavy a blow Redtail’s death had been for his clan.

Sandstorm sighed. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “If he does, he won’t be - the same. Spottedleaf said it was really bad.”

Fireheart shuffled aside as Dustpaw limped over to their little gathering. He sat down on Sandstorm’s other side, shoulders slumped, the picture of defeat.

“How is he?” Ravenshadow asked anxiously, peering at his friend.

Dustpaw raised his chin briefly. “Not good,” he said quietly. “I didn’t - I’m not a medicine cat, but Spottedleaf said he bled a lot before Barkface found him. It’s going to take  _ moons _ for him to recover, if he even -” His voice caught, and he hunched his shoulders miserably.

Sandstorm licked his ear, then began to groom his bedraggled fur. After a moment of hesitation - he’d never been friends with Dustpelt - Fireheart moved to join her.

“He’s strong,” Sandstorm murmured, her own voice wobbling slightly. “He’ll pull through.”

Dustpaw made a soft, unhappy sound in his chest and hunched in on himself further.

The wind rustled. Fireheart’s ear twitched as Pinestar murmured in his ear.

_ It is a cruel wound, _ the old leader whispered.  _ I have seen cats survive it, but none were of the clans. _

Fireheart waited, but Pinestar did not speak again.

 

Not until that night, when Firestar awoke in Pinestar’s clearing to see the old leader sitting in the center.

“It’s been a while,” Pinestar greeted him, swishing his tail. “You’ve done well.”

Firestar grunted as he pulled himself to his paws. “What did you mean?” he asked, padding across the clearing at he spoke. “What you said earlier, about no clan cats surviving wounds like Redtail’s?”

“What I said,” Pinestar meowed, rolling his shoulders. “I lived one of my nine lives in the Twolegplace, as a kittypet, alongside your father. It was a safe life for many, but there were kittypets who fought like rogues and suffered the same injuries for it. There were many times when I thought they would surely die, when their Twolegs took them away and I assumed I would never see them again.” His eyes glinted in the starlight. “And yet, they came back.”

For a moment, Firestar didn’t understand.

“Are you saying,” he said slowly, “that I should give Redtail to Twolegs? To the  _ Cutter?” _

Pinestar shrugged. “I’m only telling you what I know. What you do with this new information is entirely up to you.”

Firestar growled in frustration. “You are  _ so unhelpful _ I don’t have the words to describe it.”

“I brought you back,” Pinestar reminded him coolly. “I gave you this second chance to save your clan.”

Firestar stared. “I didn’t  _ ask _ for that,” he snarled. “That was  _ your  _ decision - you never even asked me if this was what I wanted!” He was  _ glad _ to be able to save these cats, but some days he was just so  _ tired, _ he didn’t want to get out of his nest.

Pinestar was silent.

Firestar growled in frustration. “What else, then?” he snapped. “What else do you want?”

Pinestar sighed. “I know you and I disagree on many things,” he said, “but I do want to help you. I am still bound by the laws of StarClan, however loosely, but I am  _ trying _ to tell you what I can.”

“You’re not doing a very good job,” Firestar hissed. Why,  _ why _ did StarClan have to be so  _ frustrating _ all the time -

“I’m  _ trying,” _ Pinestar snarled, sweeping his tail across the damp grass. “Just as much as you are.”

Firestar spat in frustration as the forest faded into the darkening sky.

* * *

Fireheart snapped awake as the sunrise light filtered weakly into the warrior’s den. Sandstorm was sleeping soundly nearby, her breathing soft and even. Ravenshadow was curled up in his nest as well, his tail draped across his muzzle.

He stifled a groan, realizing he wasn’t going to get any more sleep before sundown at the earliest. He picked himself, rolling his shoulder uncomfortably, and ducked out of the warrior’s den.

Longtail and Darkstripe were on watch - Fireheart noticed with amusement that Darkstripe couldn’t stop yawning. Barley was curled up under the overhang of the Highrock, not far from Yellowfang - despite her induction into ThunderClan, she still refused to sleep in the warrior’s den.

“Too crowded,” she’d rasped when Fireheart had brought it up. “I got used to the space.”

Fireheart suspected she’d change her tune when leafbare arrived properly. For now, however, he let her have her peace.

Barley blinked awake as Fireheart made his way to the fresh-kill pile. He yawned and got to his feet, stumbling a little as he passed Yellowfang’s still-sleeping form.

“Hi,” he greeted Fireheart, his tail-tip twitching. “Thanks for letting me stay. I didn’t want to end up leading those BloodClan cats back to my farm.”

Fireheart purred. “It’s no trouble,” he assured Barley. “You’ve proven yourself a friend of ThunderClan. It’s the least we could do.”

Barely’s ears twitched. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said awkwardly. “Um. I should probably get going, now that it’s day.”

Fireheart blinked innocently at him. “Sorry to hear that. Ravenshadow will be sad he missed the opportunity to say goodbye.”

“Oh.” Barley blinked. “Well, maybe I’ll wait for a bit. It’s still early.”

Fireheart grinned knowingly. Sometimes, it was  _ fun _ being the old one.

* * *

Barley left soon after Ravenshadow made an appearance to bid him farewell. Fireheart laughed as his friend stared at the entrance tunnel long after Barley had vanished into the forest.

“Are you planning to run after him?” he teased. “If you hurry, you might catch him before he makes it to the border.”

“I - wh - shut up!” Ravenshadow hissed in a panic. “Fireheart!”

Fireheart felt a pang in his chest (this still wasn’t  _ his _ ThunderClan, not yet) but he waved his tail reassuringly. “I won’t say anything,” he promised. “But I think you two would get along.”

Ravenshadow ducked his head. “But he’s not  _ ThunderClan,” _ he whined softly. “I couldn’t…”

Fireheart nudged Ravenshadow’s shoulder. “You never know,” he meowed. “Things can always change.”

Ravenshadow heaved a sigh and cast an inscrutable glance at the tunnel before turning away.

Fireheart’s gaze was drawn towards the medicine den, but he found himself padding towards the nursery. Goldenflower and Frostfur were awake, watching their kits play in the grass in front of their den.

He purred as Cinderkit tumbled into his leg with a squeak. “Careful there, little warrior,” he meowed, propping her up with one paw. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah!” Cinderkit squealed, blinking up at him with wide blue eyes. “Swiftkit’s gonna be an  _ apprentice _ soon,” she whined.  _ “I  _ wanna be an apprentice.”

Fireheart’s stomach twisted. “It’s a lot of hard work,” he meowed. “Not nearly as much fun as playing all day.”

“But camp is so  _ boring!”  _ Brightkit wailed. “I wanna go outside!”

Fireheart noticed that Swiftkit himself was quiet on the issue. He purred at the younger kits. “That’s very brave of you,” he told them. “I’m sure you’ll all be fine warriors one day.”

_ All of you, _ he declared fiercely, looking at Cinderkit. Brightkit’s eyes shone and Fireheart swore to himself for a second time that the name  _ Lostface _ would never be spoken under these skies.

“Hello Fireheart,” Frostfur called. “You’re up rather early. I would have thought you’d be exhausted after yesterday’s battle.”

Fireheart stepped carefully around the kits as they returned to their games, padding over to the two queens. “I never sleep much after battles,” he confessed.  _ Especially when Pinestar decides to be cryptic and unhelpful.  _ He couldn’t turn Redtail over to the Twolegs - ThunderClan would never see him again.

_ But he might live, _ his mind whispered treacherously.

Frostfur’s eyes softened. Goldenflower glanced away.

“Your kits look wonderful,” Fireheart said, to break the silence before it became awkward. “Swiftkit’s apprentice ceremony must be soon, surely? He must be six moons already.”

Goldenflower purred. “Later today,” she confided, leaning close so her son wouldn’t hear. “He’s been looking forward to it for  _ ages _ but he’s just realized he won’t be in the nursery any more, poor dear.”

“He’ll adjust,” Fireheart assured her. “I remember -”

_ “But what about mama?” Leafkit wailed. “I won’t be in the same den as her anymore!” _

“Fireheart?” Frostfur peered at him worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, shaking his head to clear the remnants of the memory. “I just… I knew someone who was the same way. She was so worried about leaving her mother for a different den,” he said fondly. Sweet little Leafkit, always fussing over her sister and trailing after her mother or Cinderpelt.

He watched Cinderkit pounce on Brackenkit and wondered if she would change her mind during her apprenticeship and follow the path of the medicine cat, or if she would become a warrior as she’d always dreamed.

“So what bring you our way?” Frostfur asked lightly. “Angling for an apprentice of your own?”

Fireheart blinked. “What?”

Goldenflower purred. “Come now, Fireheart, it’s not so surprising. A promising young warrior like yourself, it’s only natural to want a young cat to teach. Especially if it improves your chances of being deputy one day,” she added, a twinkle in her eyes.

“Deputy,” Fireheart muttered wryly. “Of course.”  _ Because it made such a difference last time. _

“Maybe later,” he said out loud, watching Brackenkit and Thornkit try and wrestle a ball of moss away from Swiftkit. “There’s… a lot going on at the moment.”

“That’s life,” Speckletail rasped from the den. “Things are always going on. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching Cinderkit.”

Frostfur purred in amusement. “She’s taken a liking to you as well, I think,” she meowed to Fireheart. “Looks up to you, even. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in the last moon.”

Fireheart coughed self-consciously. “I was just trying to help,” he muttered.  _ I couldn’t help Lionheart, _ he reflected bitterly.  _ I bought him what? Days? _

“You brought my kits home,” Frostfur said seriously. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a hero, and clan in any way that matters.”

Fireheart’s ear twitched. “Thanks.”

He rose to his feet. “I should get going,” he meowed politely, dipping his head to the two quens. “I meant to visit Redtail before patrols were assigned.”

He left the nursery behind, meowing a goodbye to the kits as he padded towards the medicine den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I know there was some debate over BloodClan last chapter, so hopefully this clears up some of your worries.
> 
> Also, a quick update - I'm doing Nanowrimo this month, so I might not be able to make weekly updates during November. I won't leave you guys high and dry all month though, promise.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a comment if you did, I really enjoy reading them all.


	28. Chapter 28

Spottedleaf looked up as Fireheart stepped into the medicine den. “I thought you’d be by,” she meowed. “Have you come to visit Redtail?”

Fireheart nodded. “How is he?”

Spottedleaf’s expression clouded. “Not well,” she admitted. “It was a cruel injury Tigerclaw dealt him. I spoke with Yellowfang - she has seen such injuries before in her time as ShadowClan’s medicine cat, but none so severe as this.”

Fireheart looked down at Redtail’s still form, watching the shallow rise and fall of the unconscious deputy’s side. “Do you think…” he swallowed. “Do you think he’ll make it?”

Spottedleaf sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I will not abandon him to StarClan’s care, not while there is something I can do. But I am not a miracle worker, Fireheart, and I fear it might take a miracle to save him.”

Fireheart bowed his head. All this effort to ensure Tigerclaw was thwarted at every turn, and now it looked like his original plot - to murder Redtail - might succeed after all. Was he only delaying the inevitable?

“I fear Dustpaw is starting to realize this,” Spottedleaf said sadly. “He has hardly left Redtail’s side.”

“Where is he now, then?” Fireheart meowed, puzzled. He’d been half-expecting Dustpaw to be hovering over Redtail like a dark tabby spectre, but the apprentice was nowhere to be seen.

“I sent him and Yellowfang to find more herbs,” Spottedleaf replied. “We’re running low after the battle and I can’t afford to leave myself.”

“He’s been spending a lot of time in the medicine den,” Fireheart noted. “Wasn’t he supposed to have returned to his training by now?”

Spottedleaf sighed again. “I planned to wait until after the battle. He’s not cut out for the life of a medicine cat, but he has a keen mind and a good eye - he was a fine assistant last night.”

Fireheart nodded. His mind drifted to the conversation he’d had with Pinestar in his dreams - well, conversation was a generous term. “I… also wondered if I could ask your advice,” he meowed.

Spottedleaf blinked. “Of course, Fireheart. What do you need?”

“You asked me to tell you if I had any more dreams,” he meowed, “about Pinestar.”

Spottedleaf’s keen amber eyes pierce his green ones. “You did. Did you have another?”

Fireheart nodded. “Pinestar hasn’t spoken to me in a while, but he appeared in my dreams last night,” he told her. Quickly, he filled her in on what Pinestar had said last night.

“I see,” Spottedleaf said slowly, frowning. “I… must think on this. And I will have to speak to Bluestar,” she added. “Thank you, Fireheart. For telling me.”

Fireheart dipped his head. “Of course.”

Outside, Bluestar’s yowl rang across the camp. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highrock for a clan meeting!”

Fireheart slipped out of the medicine den, leaving Spottedleaf sitting at the threshold. Goldenflower was already sitting at the foot of the Highrock, her fur groomed to a gleam. Swiftkit stood in front of her, looking very small and very frightened.

A pang of grief shot through Fireheart’s chest as he padded over to sit next to Sandstorm and Ravenshadow. He remembered Swiftkit’s first apprentice ceremony, the memory soured by his indignation, his jealousy over Longtail’s kindness to a  _ clanborn _ cat. He also remembered how  _ proud _ Longtail was of Swiftpaw - and how devastated he’d been when Swiftpaw had been killed by dogs.

Sandstorm nudged him sharply. “Hey,” she hissed. “No zoning out in the middle of ceremonies.”

Fireheart shook himself. “Sorry,” he murmured back, watching Swiftkit waiting at the foot of Highrock as the clan gathered.

_ Not this time, _ he vowed.  _ This time, you’ll earn your warrior name. _

He looked around, wondering where Greypaw was, and saw Dustpaw and Yellowfang slip into camp with bundles of herbs in their jaws. A flash of grey fur caught his attention - he turned his head to see Greypaw sitting down at the front, a few tail-lengths away from Goldenflower.

“We have won great victories of late,” Bluestar announced, “and known heavy loss. But the moon turns and StarClan watches over us still. Life goes on and there are those among us who have reached important times in their lives. Greypaw,” she called, “step forward.”

“I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan,” Bluestar announced, “call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in their turn.”

She looked down upon Greypaw, staring up with wide yellow eyes.

Fireheart beamed.

“Greypaw,” Bluestar called, “do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do!” Greypaw meowed.

Bluestar’s eyes glowed with approval. “Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Greypaw, from this moment on you will be known as Greystripe. StarClan honors your bravery and strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

“Greystripe!” Fireheart raised his voice to join the chorus welcoming the new warrior. “Greystripe! Greystripe! Greystripe!”

Greystripe’s eyes shone with pride.

“Your vigil will begin at sundown,” Bluestar told him as the chanting died down. Greystripe bowed his head and stepped backwards, moving to sit next to Fireheart as cats called out their congratulations.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked softly. “Before the vigil?”

Fireheart smiled at him. “You can always talk to me,” he promised.

Greystripe’s expression filled with gratitude.

“There is another apprentice to attend to,” Bluestar called outs, silencing the crowd. “Dustpaw, your training has been delayed by many trials. Brave Redtail yet lives, but his path to recovery will be a long one and you have been kept from your training long enough. Whitestorm,” she called.

Whitestorm blinked up at her in surprise, but rose gracefully to his feet, padding forward to meet an equally surprised Dustpaw.

“You have proven yourself a fine mentor,” Bluestar continued, “and a wise warrior. You will continue Dustpaw’s training until such a time as Redtail recovers or Dustpaw earns his warrior name, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him in turn.”

Whitestorm touched his nose to Dustpaw’s, murmuring a word of reassurance too low for Fireheart to hear. Next to him, Sandstorm swelled up with pride for her old mentor.

The congratulations were more subdued this time, mixed with murmurs of sympathy and well-wishes for Redtail. Fireheart’s eyes were fixed on Swiftkit, practically trembling in his own fur. He felt a flash of sympathy for the young kit - with two ceremonies before Swiftkit’s own, he would have had time to work himself up into a panic.

“Swiftkit!” Bluestar called.

Swiftkit startled, skittering forward, his pale amber eyes round with anxiety.

“You have reached the age of six moons,” Bluestar continued, “and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Swiftpaw. Your mentor will be Longtail.”

Longtail approached the Highrock, eyes shining. He looked young and proud and full of promise - but he always had been proud, even as an elder in the lake territories. He’d lived a good life - a full life - and Fireheart had mourned his passing. He wished he could save Longtail - but there was simply nothing to save him  _ from. _

Death came for every cat.

“Longtail,” Bluestar meowed, “you are ready to take on an apprentice. You have received excellent training from Darkstripe, and you have shown yourself to be fierce and loyal. You will be the mentor of Swiftpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

The warrior’s eyes softened, just as they had before, when he met his new apprentice’s gaze. “It’s okay, you’re doing fine,” he murmured as they touched noses.

_ Yeah, right, Fireheart thought bitterly. Just because he’s clanborn - _

Fireheart shook himself hard. That was a lifetime ago - nine lifetimes ago. He had been young and prickly, still an outcast within the clan.

It didn’t even happen this time. Why did he feel so guilty?

* * *

“So,” Fireheart meowed, curling his tail around his paws as he sat beneath the Owl Tree, “what did you want to talk about?”

Greystripe opened and closed his mouth a few times without saying a word, his expression troubled. Fireheart waited patiently while his friend tried to find the right words.

“How come you -” Greystripe stopped with a frustrated meow. “Why were you so focused on saving Redtail?”

Fireheart blinked. “He’s the deputy,” he meowed. “If he’d died, Tigerclaw would have been named deputy in his place.” Lionheart, of course, was another candidate, but whoever assumed the mantle of deputy was in danger - and if Tigerclaw took the position, then Bluestar herself was threatened.

He wanted to save as many cats as he could. But Redtail was the most important.

“Okay,” Greystripe meowed, nodding. “So, why - what happened to Lionheart? The first time?”

Fireheart bowed his head. “Greystripe, I…”

“No, I don’t -” Greystripe sighed. “I just. I want to know  _ why.” _

Fireheart didn’t raise his gaze. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

He told Greystripe everything, retreading old ground he’d covered beneath this very tree when he was a fresh ThunderClan apprentice, spilling his secret for the first time - how Redtail had died at Sunningrocks and Lionheart had been named his successor, how Lionheart had been killed when ShadowClan had attacked the camp the morning after the Gathering, how Tigerclaw had taken his place.

“I thought he was safe,” Fireheart said wretchedly. “I thought that with Tigerclaw gone and Bluestar warned about the next attack, I thought everyone would be  _ safe. _ I didn’t -” He swallowed roughly. “I’m sorry, Greystripe.”

Greystripe didn’t respond. Fireheart stared at his paws, hoping,  _ praying _ that his bond with his best friend had not been shattered -

Something pressed into his cheek. Fireheart startled, then purred in relief when he realized it was Greystripe, pressing himself into Fireheart’s side.

“You’re a mouse-brain,” Greystripe told him, still pressed into his fur. “Sorry I was one too.”

“I know,” Fireheart croaked, trying not to choke up. “I wish I could have -”

“I know,” Greystripe echoed. “Like I said. I was being a mouse-brain too. You - you’re a good cat. You wouldn’t have just… let Lionheart die.” His voice wavered and he pressed his face into Fireheart’s scruff. “If - if you had another choice.”

Fireheart turned his head to lick Greystripe’s ear. “I wouldn’t have,” he said quietly. “I swear.”

Greystripe heaved a sigh. “Mouse-brain,” he repeated.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Greystripe didn’t follow him to the Twolegplace - it wasn’t even sunhigh, but Fireheart had no idea how long he’d be gone and Greystripe  _ really _ didn’t want to miss the start of his vigil. Fireheart didn’t blame him - he well-remembered the gnawing anxiety of his own vigil (the first one, at least) and didn’t begrudge Greysyripe his own spell of nerves. Especially, he thought, to go to the Twolegplace.

He caught Longtail and Swiftpaw’s scents near Tallpines and changed course to avoid them. As curious as he was to see Longtail’s first day as a mentor, he had larger prey to catch.

He needed to speak with Princess; he needed to assure her that he hadn’t forgotten his promise - especially now that  _ BloodClan _ was in play (the image of Tigerstar bleeding out nine times over flashed through his mind and he shuddered) - but if Brokenstar was still in the forest… 

There were no easy answers.

This time, Smudge recognized him when he stepped into the Twolegplace, meowing a greeting from his garden.

“Smudge!” Fireheart greeted, balancing easily on the fence. “Any word?”

Smudge shook his head. “It’s been quiet as a mouse here,” he said. “Marmalade came by once to ask if you’d been by. I told him I hadn’t seen you since what happened with Oliver.” His eyes were large and round. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Fireheart assured him. “I just need to talk to Princess. Is she still in the same nest?”

“Yep!” Smudge chirped. “You know the one. Want me to take you there?” he asked hopefully.

Fireheart shook his head regretfully. “Sorry, Smudge, not this time. I’m not going to stay long.”

“Oh.” Smudge’s whiskers drooped. “Well, okay. Take care of yourself out there,” he meowed.

“I will,” Fireheart lied, and he was off.

Princess wasn’t in her garden when he arrived. He had a moment of panic before her scent wafted across his nose, fresh and untroubled. She must be inside, he realized, and he relaxed, glancing around before leaping down into the garden. “Princess!” he called. “Are you here?”

There was no reply.

Then the small flap in the door of the Twoleg nest was pushed open. Princess peered out, eyes wide. Her face lit up as soon as she saw Fireheart and she wriggled out.

“Fireheart!” she purred, touching noses with him in greeting. “I was starting to worry.” She stepped back, peering up at him anxiously. “Is it safe? Are you going to take me to join ThunderClan?”

Fireheart glanced away. “It’s not that simple,” he said quietly. “Brokenstar isn’t gone yet - your kits would still be in danger -”

“My kits are in danger  _ here,” _ Princess hissed. “The cat who killed Oliver came by again, and there have been others like him - huge, scarred cats with teeth stuck through their collars.” She shuddered. “I’ve been shut up in my housefolk’s den ever since that day. It’s been  _ horrible, _ Fireheart - I want to feel the sun again. I want my kits to feel the sun, not live stuck in a twoleg den!”

Fireheart cocked an ear. “Twoleg?”

Princess huffed. “Marmalade,” she muttered. “I can’t practice hunting and fighting, not with kits, but I’m not  _ helpless.” _

“I don’t want to bring you and your kits to ThunderClan, only to watch them get taken away,” Fireheart told her.

“I don’t want my kits to be scooped up by Oliver’s murderer the second they set paw outside,” she shot back.

Fireheart bowed his head.

“It’s your decision,” he meowed eventually. “I just - I want you to know what you’re getting into.”  _ I didn’t, _ he thought.  _ I never regretted my choice, but I didn’t realize what I was choosing. Not really. _

Princess’s face softened. “I know,” she meowed. “You always looked out for me when we were kits. But I’m going to have kits of my own soon. I know what I’m choosing, Fireheart.”

Fireheart nodded. “Okay,” he told her. “I believe you. I’ll bring you to ThunderClan. Not right now,” he added, the gears turning in his head. “ThunderClan might well turn you away if you just appear. But our deputy, Redtail - he was badly injured in battle last night. Our medicine cat isn’t sure she can save him.”

Princess’s expression turned stricken. “That’s awful,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Fireheart dipped his head in agreement. “It’s not good,” he agreed. “One of our warriors, Yellowfang - she’d treated similar injuries, but none so severe.” He hesitated, warring over the decision to mention his dream about Pinestar. “I spoke to the medicine cat, and I think I have an idea.”

Princess tilted her head curiously. “An idea?”

Fireheart nodded. “One of your Twolegs is a Cutter - a vet - right?”

Princess’s eyes lit up! “Yes! I’ve seen him treat loners who are injured in fights before. He treats most of them inside the den, but for the really badly hurt ones he takes them somewhere else.”

_ The Cutter. _ Fireheart vaguely remembered something like that happening when he was living with his own Twolegs - and, much more vividly, remembering the wire traps littered around the old forest and the gaping hole in his chest when Greystripe had been taken from him.

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous,” he decided. “We’ll have to find another way - do you watch when he helps these cats? Do you know what he uses?” Twolegs had better medicine than the clan cats - if they could get their paws on it, they could use it themselves.

Maybe. Probably.

Princess nodded slowly. “I think so,” she said slowly. “I - I’m not sure, but I can try.”

Fireheart nodded slowly. “Then I definitely have a plan.” He stepped away, turning back to the fence. “Stay inside,” he told her. “I have to speak to my clan. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“You’d better be,” Princess meowed. “Goodbye, Fireheart. I’ll see you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fun. :)


	29. Chapter 29

Spottedleaf pressed her paw gently against Bluestar’s flank, feeling for any signs of wincing or pain. Sure enough, the skin under Spottedleaf’s paw tensed as soon as she applied pressure, the fur ruffling minutely in the telltale sign of a warrior suppressing the fact that they were in  _ pain. _

Mouse-brains, the lot of them.

“Another dose of poppy seeds,” Spottedleaf declared. “The wound is healing well, but we can’t have our leader too distracted by pain to  _ leader.” _

“It is not that bad,” Bluestar meowed, staring stoically at the opposite wall of the medicine den.

Spottedleaf sighed. “Take the poppy seeds anyway,” she meowed as she retrieved two from her newly-replenished stocks. “Or I’ll keep fretting.”

Bluestar sighed but licked up the poppy seeds.

“Spottedleaf!” Fireheart ducked into the den. “I have an - oh, hello, Bluestar. Are you all right?”

“Just fine,” Bluestar meowed, rising to her feet. “Is something the matter, Fireheart?”

“No, no,” Fireheart shook his head, stepping into the medicine den. “Not exactly. I just - I had an idea of how to help Redtail.”

Immediately, all of Bluestar’s attention was focused on the young warrior. “What idea?”

Fireheart hesitated, glancing to Spottedleaf before speaking. “My sister, Princess,” he began slowly, “still lives in the Twolegplace. I’ve visited her a couple times, looking for more information on BloodClan. ”

Bluestar stiffened. “You have returned to the Twolegplace?”

“In service of ThunderClan!” Fireheart protested. “My life is  _ here, _ Bluestar, I only - I only wanted to help the clan.”

Spottedleaf rested her tail across Bluestar’s flank. “Let him speak,” she murmured. 

Fireheart dipped his head gratefully. “Her twoleg is a Cutter,” he meowed, “and she believes she can steal the things he uses to heal cats to use on Redtail.”

Spottedleaf gasped. Twoleg medicine - it was insanity, but -

“What does she ask in return?” Bluestar asked suspiciously. Spottedleaf stared at her incredulously - surely whatever the price, it would be worth it? They could save more cats than just  _ Redtail _ with this.

Fireheart took a deep breath. “She wants to join ThunderClan.”

* * *

Fireheart watched Bluestar anxiously as the echo of his words died around him.

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “ThunderClan is not a greenleaf haunt,” she meowed. “I would have expected you to understand -”

“I do!” Fireheart protested, raising his chin defiantly. “And she does too. She’s been learning from Twolegplace rogues how to hunt and fight, as best she can. I’ve told her it isn’t easy, that cats die. She knows what she’s getting into, and she wants a better life for her kits than stuck inside a Twoleg Den.”

“Kits?” Spottedleaf meowed. “From how you spoke, I thought she was your littermate.”

Fireheart blinked. “I - she is.”

Bluestar frowned. “That is… quite young, to be with kits. You are not yet nine moons old - setting aside your unique circumstances,” she added sternly, sensing Fireheart about to object. “Very well. I will - consider it, at least. Please, explain this plan of yours.”

Fireheart took a deep breath and re-ordered his thoughts. “Princess’s Twoleg is a Cutter,” he meowed slowly. “He treats rogues and loners sometimes. She’s seen what he uses and what he does - it’s too risky to allow the Cutter to treat him, he’s too badly injured, but Princess can get the herbs that the Cutter uses to treat injuries like Redtail’s.”

Bluestar frowned. “That is… a very risky plan, Fireheart.”

“It is,” Fireheart admitted. “But… it is the only one I have.”

Spottedleaf turned to Bluestar. “It’s not a bad plan,” she murmured. “Risky, yes, but I believe it can work.”

Bluestar glanced towards Spottedleaf. Then her gaze settled on the still-unconscious form of Redtail, limp in his nest.

She took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said softly. “We will try it your way.”

* * *

Firestar awoke with a start, blinking in confusion as he found himself at the edge of Pinestar’s clearing. Two nights in a row, after so long a silence? Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it made the fur on his spine stand on end.

He rose to his paws, making his way towards the boulder by the spring where Pinestar could usually be found. “Pinestar?” he called, circling the boulder warily. Pinestar’s scent lingered, as much as any scents lingered in StarClan.

For all that Firestar resented being brought back to retread the same paths - even for all the good it did those around him - he had never looked forward to joining StarClan. He missed the cats he’d lost, yes, but the smells of StarClan were muted behind a constant wash of rainwater, the vibrant colors of the forest washed out by drifting mist and starlight. He liked being alive. He enjoyed the day-to-day challenges of running a clan, the warm glow in his chest that came with every ceremony.

He did  _ not _ enjoy having to bear the weight of the clans on his shoulders. He had accepted it when he was young because he knew nothing else of what it meant to be a warrior, and he accepted it now because he had known peace that lasted seasons and was determined to see it again.

That didn’t mean he was immune to doubts. Or  _ complaining. _

“Pinestar!” he called again, leaping atop the boulder to survey the entire clearing. “Jake? Are you there?”

A shadow emerged from the trees and stopped at the edge of the forest. Firestar tensed, lowering himself into a crouch as the cat approached - out from under the trees, their dark fur resolved into dark reddish-brown. Scars stood out on his muzzle and Firestar relaxed as he recognized Pinestar.

But why hadn’t he been here?

Pinestar stopped at the far bank of the spring. “Firestar,” he called, confusion warping his tone higher. “What are you doing here?”

“I woke up here,” Firestar said, befuddled. He jumped down from the boulder to stand in front of Pinestar. “I thought you called me.”

Pinestar let out an annoyed  _ mrrow. _ “I’m calling on you too often,” he muttered, moving to lie down in the grass alongside the spring. “This happens, with medicine cats that StarClan speaks with too often, or leaders who walk too closely with us. They start appearing when they aren’t called.” He watched the water, expression troubled. “I thought I sensed it starting to happen, but when Jake spoke to you and you didn’t start appearing here, I thought it would be safe to speak to you again.”

“Safe?” Firestar echoed, tucking his paws underneath him as he lay down next to Pinestar. “I don’t understand.”

Pinestar glanced at him. “You remember how the Dark Forest recruited, do you not? Bringing warriors and apprentices into their ranks night after night? The toll it took on them.”

Firestar nodded slowly, something like dread building between his shoulders. He had always assumed that the fatigue in the warriors that had been drawn into the Dark Forest had been from the brutal training Tigerstar and his lieutenants put them through, but…

“It’s not quite the same,” Pinestar continued. “Where the Dark Forest takes a toll on the body, too long spent in StarClan takes a toll on the mind. The living are meant to visit only rarely, in sparing dreams and through the path of the Moonstone. Too much time spent in StarClan… it makes the transition between life and death too easy. They start appearing when they aren’t called, and then they stop being able to leave so easily. Life slips away while they sleep. And eventually…” Pinestar sighs. “Eventually, they do not have the strength to wake.”

Firestar shivered. “Am I -?”

“No,” Pinestar said abruptly, swinging his head around to look at him intently. “No, you are not so far gone yet. But you must not come here. I cannot speak to you - you cannot save the clans if you are  _ dead.” _

“How do I stop?” Firestar demanded. “How do I  _ stop coming here _ if you’re not calling me?”

Pinestar hesitated. “As loathe as I am to suggest it… exhaustion weighs the mind down, makes it more difficult to slip into StarClan’s hunting grounds. Do not deny yourself rest, Firestar, but be careful. I would not see you join me here for many moons yet.”

* * *

Fireheart did not tell Spottedleaf about that dream. Instead, he arrived in Bluestar’s den with the sun, aching to get Redtail the help he needed.

Being cut off from StarClan - he’d never realized how much he relied on the  _ option _ to speak to his warrior ancestors until it was removed. They were irritating and obtuse and contrary but their existence provided a balm that Fireheart hadn’t realized he needed until it was stripped away.

He shoved his worries aside. He would tell Spottedleaf  _ later, _ if everything went okay and he wasn’t tossed out on his tail for suggesting using  _ Twoleg _ supplies.

“You’re eager,” Bluestar noted with some amusement. Then she sobered. “This mission cannot afford to be rushed, Fireheart. It is possibly the most dangerous thing ThunderClan has ever done - never before have we sought out Twolegs.”

Fireheart dipped his head. “I understand.” 

“Good,” Bluestar meowed as they exited her den. “I’ve chosen Sandstorm and Runningwind to accompany you to the Twolegplace. Be careful,” she added quietly. “ThunderClan needs  _ all _ of its warriors, Fireheart. Not only its deputy.”

“I understand,” Fireheart repeated. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “This isn’t the first time I’ve led a mission, Bluestar. We can do this,” he promised.

Bluestar  _ tsk _ ed. “Sometimes I forget what you really are,” she murmured, turning her head to gaze over the camp. “ThunderClan is lucky to have you, Fireheart.” Her voice was troubled.

Fireheart wondered who she saw when she watched Whitestorm and Willowpelt together.

* * *

Sandstorm’s tail swished in agitation as she crouched at the edge of the forest. “You’re  _ sure _ about this?” she meowed. “Like, really sure?”

Fireheart sighed internally. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your sister,” Sandstorm went on, “but you know this is -”

_ “I know,” _ Fireheart ground out. “I’m aware, Sandstorm, thank you so much for bringing it up  _ again.” _

Sandstorm sniffed. “Well, I was only checking.”

Fireheart sighed. Runningwind chuckled on his other side, but the mirth was laced with the slight hysteria brought on by nerves.

“I just need you two to keep a lookout,” he meowed. “Princess said that there were BloodClan cats patrolling the area last time I was here, and maybe ShadowClan cats as well. We don’t have the numbers for a confrontation. If you see BloodClan cats, your job is to sound the alarm and  _ get out. _ We’ll join you when it’s safe.”

Runningwind glanced at him. “What, and leave you inside a Twoleg nest? Not a chance.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fireheart said testily. “Trust me. You think I haven’t dealt with Twolegs before?”

“Not the point, mouse-brain,” Sandstorm muttered.

Fireheart sighed again. “Just keep an eye out. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

He slipped out of the trees, Sandstorm and Runningwind as his flanks. Sandstorm wobbled when she jumped onto Princess’s fence, slinking along the length to put the large bush in the corner of the yard at her back. Runningwind jumped lightly onto the roof of Princess’s Twoleg’s nest, wincing as the rough, hot material scuffed at his paws.

Fireheart dove into the yard, landing silently. “Princess!” he called, approaching the door cautiously. “Princess, are you there?”

The small square entrance flap was pushed aside. Princess poked her head out, eyes wide. “Is it happening?” she hissed. “Are we -?”

Fireheart nodded.

“Okay. Okay.” Princess took a deep breath. “Come on. My Twoleg - the Cutter just had a patient. All of his things are still out.”

Her head disappeared back inside. After a moment of trepidation, Fireheart followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, sorry guys. Hope you enjoy this one!


	30. Chapter 30

The inside of the Twoleg den was - cleaner, somehow, than Fireheart had been expecting. He remembered the one he’d lived in being very messy, the ground strewn with brightly objects for days at a time.

“He’s in the monster’s den,” Princess whispered. “Come on.”

Fireheart followed after her, paws itching nervously as she waddled slowly, encumbered by her huge belly. How many kits had she had? he wondered. He couldn’t recall how large her litter had been.

“This way.”

He followed her through a slightly open door into a clean white room. Strange stones hummed on ledges, and there was a raised platform in the center that held a misshapen pelt.

“He keeps his supplies in that,” Princess told him. “I can’t jump up there, but you can, right?” she asked, turning to Fireheart hopefully.

It wasn’t a long jump. Fireheart crouched, eyeing the edge of the platform speculatively, and sprang.

He landed squarely, claws sliding on the slick, translucent surface. For a moment, he was sure he was going to slide off entirely, falling to the floor in an embarrassing and  _ loud _ display of ineptitude, but he managed to hook his hind claws onto the ledge and heave himself upright. 

The misshapen pelt loomed before him. He poked at it carefully - when nothing happened, he nosed his way into the hole in its top, wrinkling his nose at the harsh, cold smells coming from within. 

“What am I looking for?” he called down, peering cautiously over the edge back to Princess.

“Just bring it down,” Princess called back, glancing over her shoulder nervously, ears twitching. “I’ll know it when I smell it. It’ll be faster this way.”

Fireheart glanced at the misshapen pelt speculatively, nudging at it with its paws. It was heavy - it would make a good amount of noise if he just knocked it to the ground.

“Can you find something soft for me to drop it onto?” he asked Princess. “So it doesn’t make too much noise?”

Princess nodded, darting out of the room.

Fireheart waited. His ears twitched as he heard sounds coming from elsewhere in the nest - clattering, and the deep sound of Twoleg meowing. He crouched nervously, the fur on the back of his neck prickling as the sound moved through the den, drawing nearer and nearer -

Princess slipped back inside, dragging a bright, fluffy bundle in her jaws that she deposited on the floor. “Quickly!” she hissed. “He’s back inside now.”

Fireheart flicked his tail in acknowledgement and pushed the misshapen pelt towards the edge of the platform, keeping his ears pricked for any sign of Princess’s twoleg approaching.

The pelt landed on the cushion with a muffled  _ thump. _

Princess darted forward. Fireheart stayed on the platform, crouched and ready to fling himself at any twoleg who walked into this part of the den.

He twitched an ear downward as Princess mewed in triumph, nosing a white chunk of - something - off to the side, along with a flimsy box that smelled like stale moss and a bundle of snakeskin.

“Is that everything?” he hissed down.

“I think so!” Princess hissed back. “There’s other things in here, but I don’t remember him using them.”

Fireheart nodded and bounded down, sniffing at the box and the snakeskin. It didn’t  _ smell _ like snakeskin, not in the least, but it sure looked like it. “You go first,” he whispered to Princess, who was holding the white chunk in her jaws. “I’ll follow. If the Twoleg tries to stop you, I’ll distract him.”

Princess nodded, tail swishing nervously. Fireheart bumped his head against her shoulder and purred reassuringly before picking up the box and the snakeskin and motioning for her to go.

Fireheart watched as Princess stepped out into the larger part of the den, shadowing her as she crept unsteadily through the massive den. Why did twolegs need so much  _ space? _ What did they  _ do _ with it all?

They had almost reached the den entrance when the twoleg appeared.

Princess bolted immediately, darting out of the den - Fireheart saw a flash of her tabby fur leaping onto the fence as the twoleg ran after her. Immediately, he lashed out with his claws, scoring a hit on the twoleg’s - well, leg - and making him yowl in pain.

Fireheart darted out after Princess, heart in his throat as the twoleg’s yowls deepened behind him. He nearly dropped the precious supplies when a massive paw wrapped around his middle and scooped him into the air, holding him tightly.

He writhed, trying to break free, but the twoleg’s paws were like the jaws of a badger. He growled deep in his chest as the twoleg tried to pull the supplies from Fireheart’s jaws with his free paw;  Fireheart lashed out with his claws. The twoleg screeched in pain, blood spurting suddenly from its foreleg as he dropped Fireheart unceremoniously to the ground.

Fireheart bolted, fur bristling in terror as he leaped up onto the garden fence and darted across the space of several nests before reuniting with Princess, Sandstorm, and Runningwind.

“Did you get everything?” Runningwind demanded.

Princess nodded, her fur fluffed up nervously.

Runningwind nodded, glancing towards the twoleg nest they’d just escaped from. A slight shiver ruffled through his fur.

“That was close,” Sandstorm muttered. “I thought that twoleg had got you for sure.”

Fireheart huffed in agreement. He made a questioning noise in his throat, looking to Princess to make sure she was all right. She looked shaken, eyes wide and fur not yet smoothed down, but she appeared to be unhurt.

“Let’s get moving,” Runningwind meowed, casting another glance at Princess’s twoleg’s nest - Princess’s  _ former _ twoleg’s nest, now. “The sooner we get this stuff to Spottedleaf, the better.”

Sandstorm took the snakeskin from Fireheart, giving his jaws a slight respite as they made their way towards the edge of the Twolegplace.

Ahead of them, Runningwind stiffened. “We’re being followed.”

Fireheart glanced around - sure enough, up on the roof was a massive black-and-white tom.

_ Bone. _

Sandstorm glanced at him worriedly.

Fireheart’s mind was whirling. Bone was a fearsome opponent - with supplies to carry and Princess largely unable to fight at all, they were going to need a distraction to avoid him.

As he weighed their options, he saw Bone leap to the next roof over, moving ahead of their patrol. Fireheart’s eyes narrowed - why would someone who was  _ following _ them want to go ahead -

Unless they were being herded.

Fireheart quickly passed the flimsy box to Sandstorm, who nearly dropped both it and the snakeskin in her haste. From the way Bone was positioned, he was trying to herd them north, towards the ShadowClan border.

“Head south,” he hissed in an undertone to Runningwind, who gave no sign of acknowledgement. “They’ve laid a trap near ShadowClan territory, I think. I’ll deal with Bone.”

Princess stared at him with wide eyes, filled with fear and recognition - with a jolt, Fireheart remembered that Bone had been the cat who had killed Oliver.

Cloudtail’s father.

He touched his tail to her flank reassuringly and dropped down to the ground without another word.

Fireheart stalked around the base of the fence, slinking below Bone’s eyeline to come up on the fence behind him, intending to ambush the massive cat.

When he leapt up to the top of the fence, however, Bone had moved on - he was slowly pushing Runningwind and the others north, towards the ShadowClan border, as Runningwind waited for Fireheart’s promised distraction.

Fireheart shadowed Bone as he leapt between roofs yet again. He wasn’t sure  _ why _ BloodClan had taken such a big interest in their patrol - perhaps it was the promise of more knowledge about the clans, or perhaps they were just sweeping up any potential competition in the Twolegplace before they recommitted themselves to Tigerclaw’s cause.

_ Cause. _ As if Tigerclaw had any real interests beyond power -  _ and revenge, _ he thought bitterly, his fur bristling as he recalled their last, fateful confrontation in the lake territories.

Fireheart crouched on the edge of the roof and leapt over to the rooftop Bone still lingered on.

Bone turned as soon as Fireheart landed, warned by some sixth sense - or perhaps a shift in the wind, Fireheart noted dryly. The big tom looked supremely unconcerned, even arrogant, at being found out. Of course he would - his job had been to  _ be seen, _ to herd the patrol away. He would have been a fool not to anticipate a fight.

“You’re Fireheart,” Bone meowed. “Aren’t you?”

A chill ran down Fireheart’s spine before he realized that Bone had spent time in Tigerclaw’s company - Tigerclaw would certainly have mentioned him.

“You’re Bone,” Fireheart responded. He was gratified to see Bone blink, startled. “Aren’t you?” he added mockingly.

Bone narrowed his eyes. “Tigerclaw mentioned you were mouthy,” he said, circling towards Fireheart’s flank. Fireheart stepped sideways, keeping the distance between them. “Mentioned a few other things, too.”

“Did he,” Fireheart said flatly, trying not to sound interested. “How exciting.”

“Scourge thought so,” Bone said with a shrug. “Tigerclaw’s got a bit of an obsession, if you ask me. But the boss seems to think there’s some merit to it.”

Fireheart stopped suddenly, instinct setting his scruff on end. This wasn’t just  _ posturing. _ “Does he, now? I can’t imagine why. Tigerclaw is notoriously unreliable.”

Bone stopped in front of Fireheart, eyes glinting in amusement.

Fireheart wasn’t sure what tipped him off. Perhaps it was a twitch in Bone’s musculature, perhaps it was something in his eyes, or perhaps it was pure instinct - whatever the case, he ducked, rolling out of the way of a set of ginger paws that slammed into the roof where he’d been standing only a moment before.

“Jaggedtooth,” Fireheart rumbled. The last time he’d seen the amber-eyed warrior, he’d been being chased away from Fourtrees with a horde of apprentices on his heels. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see that  _ this _ is where you came from.”

Jaggedtooth paused. Belatedly, Fireheart realized that Jaggedtooth was probably not his name - it certainly hadn’t been to begin with, if he was one of the rogues Tigerclaw had recruited from BloodClan’s ranks.

Oops.

Ah, well. It was a small problem in the grand scheme of things. Probably.

Jaggedtooth - or whatever his name was at the moment - lunged again. Fireheart slipped aside, towards Bone, coming out of the dive to shoulder Bone towards the edge of the roof. Bone yowled, twisting around to grapple Fireheart’s head and throwing him sideways.

Fireheart’s claws scrabbled for purchase on the rough, harsh stone of the twoleg nest roof. He skidded to a halt, hissing angrily. Bone swiped at his head; he ducked that blow but walked right into Jaggedtooth’s uppercut.

He staggered sideways, blinking stars out of his eyes. Blood ran down his cheek, dripping onto his paws.

He’d forgotten just how  _ strong _ BloodClan cats were, somehow.

When he looked back up, Bone was grinning at him, mouth stretched wide to reveal his sharp fangs.

Fireheart snarled, lunging for him and changing targets at the last moment, raking his claws down Jaggedtooth’s flank.

Jaggedtooth yowled, trying to land a blow on Fireheart as he flew past. Fireheart felt the fur on his back ruffle from the blow.

He landed, turned, and Jaggedtooth was upon him.

Fireheart struggled in the strong cat’s grip, sending them careening across the roof. He managed to wriggle free after they smacked into a conical protrusion, the impact glazing over Jaggedtooth’s eyes for just a moment. He leapt onto the cat’s back, but Bone dragged him off, shaking him from side to side like a wayward kitten before flinging him towards the edge of the roof. 

Fireheart yowled as his hind paws slipped over the edge, leaving him clawing at the edge with his front paws as he dangled dangerously over the drop.

It was - probably survivable.  _ Probably. _ This wasn’t a very tall nest, as twoleg nests went.

Still, he’d rather not break a leg. Or his  _ back. _

Bone loomed over him, still grinning. Jaggedtooth lurked behind him, blood trickling from his head.

Fireheart tried to scrambled up, tried to hook his hind paws into something to give himself an  _ ounce _ of leverage.

Bone sank his claws into Fireheart’s claws, wringing out a yowl of pain, and  _ flung _ him away from the ledge.

For a moment, Fireheart was entirely weightless.

Then he crashed painfully into the opposite fence and tumbled to the ground. He lay there, stunned, listening to the cruel laughter fade away above him.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to break through the paralysis and drag himself to his feet, wincing at the myriad of pains littering his body. His shoulder hurt the worst, sending shooting pain through his chest every time he tried to put weight on that leg, but everything else appeared to be working - if slightly battered.

He tasted the air. Bone and Jaggedtooth’s scents were still fresh - either they had just left, or they were still in the area. If it came to another fight, he was going to fare much worse than he had in this one.

It was time to leave. He just had to hope that the others had made it safely to ThunderClan territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, chapter thirty. That's a milestone if I've ever seen one.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck around thus far!


	31. Chapter 31

Sandstorm kept checking behind them as the patrol returned to ThunderClan territory. She told herself she was watching for the BloodClan cat that had been following them - she thought he might be Bone, based on what Fireheart had told her about him - but as they moved through the forest, picking up speed and moving more confidently in their native oak forest, it became more and more difficult to lie to herself.

She was looking for Fireheart. Looking to see if he was all right.

She wasn’t the only cat - Princess, especially, kept looking over her shoulder, eyes wide as she scanned the foliage. Sandstorm had kept a wary eye on her the whole journey, waiting for her to start  _ complaining -  _ she was just a kittypet after all, unused to the hard labor of a warrior’s life. But she was silent, despite the weight of her massive belly.

Hadn’t she said she was Fireheart’s littermate? She was younger than  _ Sandstorm, _ what was she doing with kits already?

_ Kittypets. _ Sandstorm shook her head.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Princess whispered to Sandstorm, her eyes still wide. “I know he’s a warrior, but…”

“He’ll be fine,” Sandstorm said roughly. He had extra lives. He’d be fine. He probably wouldn’t even  _ lose _ them, because he was annoying like that. “He’s fought worse cats than an overinflated rogue.”

“I recognized that cat,” Princess meowed quietly. “Fireheart said his name was Bone. He said he was a murderer.”

Sandstorm nodded. “Sounds accurate,” she agreed.  _ Murderer. _ That was fun, if she was allowed to change the definition of ‘fun’ to ‘worrying’. Fireheart wouldn’t call a cat a murderer unless he  _ meant  _ it.

Which begged the question - who had Bone killed that was so important to Fireheart?

Sandstorm glanced over her shoulder again.

There was a slight rustle among the bushes. Her heart stuttered in her chest before she scolded herself for being so jumpy - there was no reason to believe it was  _ Fireheart, _ or anything more than a mouse or a rabbit - but then she saw a flash of ginger fur and she stopped.

The wind was blowing the wrong way for her to catch a scent, and her nose was filled with the strange, too-clean smell of the Twoleg herbs anyway.

“Fireheart!” she called out. Runningwind pushed his way in front of her, tasting the air.

Sandstorm scowled. Runningwind might be a senior warrior, but she wasn’t  _ helpless. _

The bushes rustled again.

Fireheart limped into the clearing, favoring his right shoulder. His ginger fur was scuffed and ragged, he was bleeding from a cut on the side of his head, and a patch of his scruff was matted with blood. But his eyes were clear as he moved forward to greet them, touching noses with Princess and purring.

“What happened?” Runningwind asked, eyeing him critically. “Were you followed?”

Fireheart shook his head, grimacing slightly as he twisted around to face Runningwind. “No. Bone and Jaggedtooth are still running around, though - I couldn’t follow them.”

“Jaggedtooth?” Princess echoed.

Fireheart shrugged. “I don’t know what his name is. Jaggedtooth will do. He’s one of Scourge’s cats, like Bone.”

“You’re injured,” Princess fussed, nosing at the bloody patch of fur on the back of Fireheart’s neck. “How bad is it?”

“Aches and pains,” Fireheart admitted, “but nothing serious.” He looked to Runningwind. “Did you get away all right?”

Runningwind nodded. “No problems. Whatever you did, it worked.” He tilted his head curiously, signaling with his tail for them to keep moving as they spoke. “What did you do, out of curiosity.”

Fireheart grinned tiredly. “First I talked to Bone, and then I fought him and Jaggedtooth, and thne I got thrown off the top of a Twoleg nest.”

Princess yelped. “You -  _ what? _ Fireheart!”

“I’m fine!” Fireheart assured her. “Like I said, aches and pains.”

“Spottedleaf should still take a look at you later,” Runningwind told him firmly as they approached ThunderClan’s camp.

“After Redtail,” Fireheart replied, equally firmly. He turned to Princess. “You’re sure about this? This is what you want?”

Princess nodded.

Fireheart nodded back. “Okay. Hold still, I’ll get your collar off for you.”

* * *

Fireheart watched the clan warily as he led Princess into the camp. Hisses and whispers spread through the assembled cats; Princess stayed close to Fireheart, glancing apprehensively at the lean, battle-scarred cats around her.

He purred reassuringly, pressed against her shoulder. He remembered how nervous he had been, the very first time he’d set paw into ThunderClan’s camp.

“They won’t hurt you,” he promised quietly. “They’re not bad cats, Princess. They’re just suspicious of outsiders.”

Princess nodded.

“They respect bravery,” he told her, glancing towards Whitestorm, watching them curiously. “Keep your head up and don’t back down.”

Princess squared her shoulders and raised her chin, staring straight ahead as the patrol made a direct line for the medicine den.

Spottedleaf looked up as soon as they entered, her shoulders slumping with relief. Yellowfang was inside too, sitting near the back and watching.

“We brought the Twoleg supplies,” Runningwind meowed as the patrol dropped their prizes at Spottedleaf’s paws. “And the kittypet who helped us get them.”

Spottedleaf nodded gratefully to Princess. “Thank you,” she meowed. “I would like you and Fireheart to remain. Sandstorm, Runningwind, report to Bluestar. Please know that I would prefer the details of the patrol to remain confidential until Redtail has been treated.”

Runningwind dipped his head and backed out of the den. Sandstorm followed a moment later, shooting Fireheart a look he couldn’t decipher.

“What’s your name?” Spottedleaf asked Princess kindly.

“Princess,” Princess answered. She watched Spottedleaf curiously. “Are you the medicine cat? Fireheart talked about you.”

Spottedleaf purred. “I am. My name is Spottedleaf. This is Yellowfang, a former medicine cat. She’ll be assisting us.”

Princess nodded. “Okay,” she meowed. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t know much about Twoleg medicine,” Spottedleaf explained. “I need you to tell me what these things do. This -” she prodded at the snakeskin, “this is to wrap the wound, yes? To keep the herbs in place?”

Princess nodded. “Yes - to stop the bleeding and keep the wound together, I think,” she meowed. She nudged the flimsy box and the white chunk. “I spoke to some of the cats my Twoleg - my  _ old _ Twoleg treated. They said the little pellets in this one,” she pointed to the flimsy box, “had to be swallowed whole because the Twoleg wouldn’t let them chew it. He gave them to every cat who had a bad wound.”

“Infection,” Yellowfang rasped from the back of the den.

Spottedleaf nodded. “Most likely,” she agreed. She nudged the hard white chunk. Liquid sloshed. “And this?”

Princess hesitated. “I - the cats I spoke to said that the Cutter fed them a few drops of it and it took the pain away, but it also made them very tired.”

Spottedleaf nodded. “All right,” she meowed. She speared the flimsy box delicately on her claws. “These will be the most important, then. You said the Cutter fed them to the cats he treated?”

Princess nodded. “Usually with a bit of food, I think, but not always.”

“Fireheart,” Spottedleaf called, “fetch us a piece of fresh-kill, please.”

Fireheart nodded and ducked out of the medicine den. He saw Runningwind and Sandstorm near Bluestar’s den; Sandstorm was hovering uneasily, shifting her weight from paw to paw. Whitestorm hadn’t moved since Fireheart had returned to the camp, still watching him curiously.

Darkstripe hissed mockingly. “What, one kittypet wasn’t enough? We have to let in  _ more?” _

“Shut up, Darkstripe,” Dustpaw snarled.

Fireheart ignored them both and picked up a small mouse from the fresh-kill pile. He held it carefully in his jaws, trying not to get too much blood on his tongue - his stomach rumbled just from the scent of it. The fight in the Twolegplace had taken a lot out of him.

He returned to the medicine den and dropped the mouse at Spottedleaf’s feet. She dipped her head in thanks as he retreated back to the edge of the den, watching.

Hoping.

Spottedleaf carefully tore a piece of meat from the mouse’s body. While Fireheart had been fetching the mouse, she had pulled apart the flimsy box and used her claws to remove a small white pellet from a shiny silver sheet.

She used her claws to cut a small pocket into the morsel of meat and inserted the pellet into it.

Yellowfang watched carefully. “Smaller piece,” she rasped. “He’ll choke on that unless you can wake him up first.”

“That was the plan,” Spottedleaf meowed calmly. “If you would?”

Yellowfang grunted and padded over to Redtail, whose side rose and fell with each steady breath. “Wake up,” she rasped, prodding him with one paw. “We have terrible ideas, Redtail, and you’re going to indulge us.”

“I’ve seen it work,” Princess protested.

Yellowfang ignored her as Redtail began to stir. “What…?”

“Good, you’re awake,” Yellowfang meowed. “You need to eat.”

Spottedleaf placed the small morsel of meat in front of Redtail. “Here, eat this. It will help.”

Redtail raised his head and managed to swallow the morsel with minimal difficulty. He gagged almost immediately. “What -”

“It will help,” Spottedleaf repeated, stroking Redtail’s throat with her paw until he swallowed. “There, that’s better.”

“Will he be all right?” Princess meowed anxiously as Redtail drifted back to sleep.

Spottedleaf sighed. “If your Twoleg medicine can break the fever, then yes, he should. So far my herbs have not been enough. If the fever doesn’t break…” She trailed off unhappily.

“Have some faith,” Yellowfang rasped. “Our warrior ancestors aren’t done with this one yet.”

Spottedleaf smiled tiredly at Yellowfang. “Let us hope not.” She turned to Princess. “Thank you, Princess. I must tend to Fireheart now - Yellowfang, would you be so kind as to escort Princess to see Bluestar?”

Yellowfang grunted and nodded. “Come on, kitty,” she meowed, waving her tail. Princess followed her out of the medicine den, casting a nervous glance back at Fireheart.

“Now,” Spottedleaf said briskly, sniffing Fireheart over. “Let’s take a look at you. Did someone drag you through a riverbed?”

Fireheart purred in amusement, allowing her to lick the matted blood from his fur. “There were two BloodClan cats tailing us in the Twolegplace. I had to distract them to give the others time to make it back to ThunderClan territory.”

“Oh, you  _ had _ to, did you?” Spottedleaf meowed skeptically. “Never mind. You’re not badly hurt, nothing’s broken.”

Fireheart hadn’t considered that, actually. Everything had been moving more or less as it should.

“You’re fairly badly bruised, but I’m afraid there’s nothing for that but poppy seeds and time.” Spottedleaf’s tail waved as she dipped into her herb store. “You have some shallow bite marks on your scruff, so make sure you keep an eye on those and let me know if they get hot or painful. In the meantime, take these -” she held out two poppy seeds, “- and try to stay away from heroics for a few days, yes?”

“Yes, Spottedleaf,” Fireheart meowed obediently. He lapped up the poppy seeds and rose to his feet, rolling his bruised shoulder uncomfortably. “Do you think I could go see Princess?” he asked hopefully. He wasn’t - sure, exactly, whether Bluestar would welcome the intrusion.

Spottedleaf watched him consideringly. “She is your littermate,” she meowed eventually. “If I were Bluestar, I would want your input on the situation.”

Fireheart nodded gratefully and stepped out of the medicine den, dipping his head to Sandstorm - and Greystripe, who looked like he had just returned from hunting with Mousefur - before ducking into Bluestar’s den.

Bluestar looked over at him. “Ah, Fireheart. I trust this barging in will not become a habit?”

Fireheart shuffled his paws. “Sorry, Bluestar,” he meowed sheepishly, suddenly feeling very young indeed. “Spottedleaf thought you would want to see me?”

Bluestar nodded. “A reasonable thought to have. Your sister seeks to join ThunderClan.”

“She does,” Fireheart meowed.

“I do,” Princess added.

“This den is crowded,” Yellowfang grumbled. “If you’ve nothing you need of me, Bluestar, I’ll take my leave.”

“Yes, thank you, Yellowfang,” Bluestar meowed. “You may go.” She turned her gaze back to Fireheart as Yellowfang padded back out into the camp.

“I have spoken with your sister at some length,” she said. “But I would hear your thoughts before I make my final decision. Do you think your sister could become a warrior of ThunderClan?”

“She would need training,” Fireheart allowed, “once her kits are grown, at least enough for the other queens to care for. But I believe she would be a valuable addition to the clan, yes.”

Bluestar nodded. “My thoughts as well,” she agreed. “Very well. Princess, as you are with kits, you will be given a warrior name. This is,” she added sharply, “with the understanding that you will still be assigned a mentor and complete the standard apprentice training. Should your training prove you are unfit for clan life, you will not be allowed to remain in ThunderClan.”

Princess nodded. “I understand,” she meowed seriously. “If I may, Bluestar - should I fail, what would become of my kits?”

“They would stay with ThunderClan,” Bluestar meowed, “unless they have by that time become apprentices and wished to join you in your exile.”

Princess took a deep breath. “Very well,” she meowed. “I understand your terms. I would like to join ThunderClan.”

Bluestar’s eyes gleamed in the light. “Very well then,” she meowed. “Come with me.”

* * *

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highrock for a clan meeting!”

Princess held her chin high just like Fireheart had told her as the lean, battle-hardened cats of ThunderClan began to cluster around her. She spotted Fireheart in the crowd, eyes shining proudly. He was sitting between the pale ginger she-cat from before (Sandstorm? Something like that) and a fluffy grey tabby tom who watched Princess curiously.

A dark tabby yowled from the crowd. “Why is the kittypet still here?” he demanded. “Does ThunderClan take in any pitiful-looking stray now?”

Fireheart hissed angrily. “If it didn’t, Darkstripe, you would have been thrown out long ago!”

“Enough!” Bluestar commanded, cutting off Darkstripe’s answering snarl. “This kittypet risked her life to bring us the herbs needed to treat the wounds of brave Redtail. She has already known loss at the claws of our enemies, despite her youth, and she wishes to join us in our fight against BloodClan. I have made the decision to accept her and her kits into ThunderClan to be trained as warriors.”

Princess puffed her chest out proudly. Her kits would be  _ warriors _ \- proud and fierce and  _ capable, _ with the smell of the wilds on their coats.

“Princess,” Bluestar called, “step forward.”

Princess stepped forward. Her paws were trembling, no matter how tightly she clenched her muscles to try and make them stop.

“As you are with kits,” Bluestar meowed, “you will be given a warrior name, with the understanding that you will be made an apprentice formally once your kits are sufficiently grown to allow you to begin your training.”

In the crowd, Darkstripe yowled in outrage. Fireheart hissed angrily, and several cats shushed them.

“From this day on, until you begin your training,” Bluestar continued, heedless of the dissent in her ranks, “you shall be known as Wrenflower.”

“Wrenflower!” a large white tom called out. “Wrenflower, Wrenflower!”

“Wrenflower!” Fireheart joined in. Slowly, more and more cats joined in the cheer, until it echoed over the hollow.

Wrenflower sought out Fireheart’s face in the crowd and beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - the Ouroboros google doc is now 300 pages long.


	32. Chapter 32

Scourge’s tail swished lazily over the leaf-strewn ground as he studied the two cats in front of him. 

Bone was uninjured, but the ginger fur on Snag’s flank was still ragged and torn from the claws of the clan cat - this _Fireheart_ that Tigerclaw seemed so obsessed with, on whom he pinned all the blame for the consequences of his actions. Scourge had seen the young cat fight in the attack on the moor cats - WindClan, was it? He was tolerably impressed. Fireheart fought with skill, but no viciousness - he lacked the edge that made BloodClan so dangerous.

Still, there was something about him. Something that made Scourge’s fur prickle when he let his mind linger on the ginger tom. Something that had so captivated Tigerclaw, something that had nearly consumed the massive tabby’s mind - something that was rapidly sending Brokenstar down the same path.

The ShadowClan leader was becoming _obsessed_ with his defeats at ThunderClan’s paws. First, the small patrol that had tricked its way into his camp and stolen back their kits. (Scourge had to admit it was an ingenious plan - Tigerclaw seemed convinced it had been Fireheart’s idea, but from what Scourge had heard of it, he would bet on the older white-furred warrior - was it Whitestorm?) Fireheart had dealt a nearly-fatal blow to Brokenstar, whipping up ShadowClan into a superstitious frenzy, and beaten the then-deputy so badly he’d been cast out of the clan to die. Scourge had seen him - a massive black-pawed tom - limping around the rat dens that lay within ShadowClan’s boundaries. his ribs showing through his pelt. He’d entertained the idea of recruiting the disgraced cat into BloodClan, but ultimately discarded it. He had already failed his leader once. Scourge was not interested in giving him an opportunity to do so again.

Second, of course, had been the battle against the moor cats - although Scourge would accredit _that_ defeat to Brokenstar’s own stupidity rather than any tactical brilliance on Fireheart’s behalf. ShadowClan had been outnumbered and surrounded  - Scourge, not wishing to lose his strongest ally in the forest (there was so much _prey_ here, the things he could _do_ with all this territory) had allowed Tigerclaw to send in BloodClan warriors to cover Brokenstar’s retreat.

And then he _hadn’t retreated._

The pincer movement had been a neat bit of coordination - ThunderClan must have found a very stealthy cat to sneak into the camp of the moor cats - and the flanking attacks had earned Scourge’s respect. But as far as he could tell, Fireheart had only been a lieutenant in the fight, not its orchestrator.

Nevertheless… 

“Tell me about him,” Scourge instructed, curling his tail around his front paws, careful not to snag his fur on his claws. “How he fights, what he said to you.”

“He called me Jaggedtooth,” Snag recalled, frowning. “And he spoke like he knew me, but we’ve never met before.”

“Are you certain?” Scourge meowed. “You have not crossed paths with him at all, even as a kit?”

Snag shook his head. “He’s a distinctive cat. I’m sure I’d remember.” There was a thread of confusion in his voice, threatening to morph into doubt, but he held Scourge’s gaze steadily. He was telling the truth - at least, what he _believed_ to be the truth. If Fireheart knew Snag from somewhere, it was not anywhere that Jaggedtooth recalled.

“Bone,” Scourge said, turning his head to regard his best lieutenant. “What was your impression?”

Bone tilted his head, considering. “He’s confident,” Bone meowed at least. “Both in his fighting abilities and in himself in general. He knew my name too,” he added, glancing at Snag momentarily. “It sounded personal. Perhaps one of his friends from the Twolegplace crossed my path in the past.”

Scourge nodded thoughtfully. It would fit - Fireheart, from what Scourge had gathered, was a young cat. While it was very unlikely he had crossed Bone’s path in any memorable way, he could easily have lost a parent or a mentor figure to Scourge’s deputy. Or perhaps one of his young friends had been unfortunate enough to draw Bone’s ire.

“He’s charismatic,” Bone continued. “At least, he seems to be. He holds sway in his clan, I don’t know how much.”

Scourge nodded again. Tigerclaw had implied as much - although Tigerclaw had been exiled when Fireheart was only an - what was the term? An _apprentice -_ he had ranted many times about the influence Fireheart had over the senior warriors of ThunderClan. It was very odd.

There was _something_ about this cat. Something Scourge was missing.

“Thank you Bone, Snag.” _Jaggedtooth._ How interesting. Scourge dismissed the pair with a wave of his tail.

There would be time to worry about this _Fireheart_ later. For now, Tigerclaw had ambitions that needed fulfilling - if Scourge was ever going to rule the forest, he would need more than a valuable outcast under his thumb.

He would need the leader of ShadowClan.

* * *

Redtail still wasn’t strong enough to make the journey to the Gathering, but he _was_ strong enough to complain about it.

“I can manage it,” he grumbled, trying to get to his feet _yet again._ “ThunderClan’s deputy should _be there.”_

“No,” Yellowfang informed him bluntly, stepping away from Redtail’s shoulder and watching him sway on his feet with a pointed stare.

“I can manage it!” Redtail repeated, a little louder, as he sat down heavily.

Spottedleaf sighed. “Redtail, you do not have the strength to walk all the way to Fourtrees. You barely have the strength to walk around camp, much less across the territory. Bluestar has attended _many_ Gatherings, she will be quite alright leading this one with Whitestorm at her side instead of you. Besides,” she added, seeing the determined glint in Redtail’s eyes redouble, “if you collapse, Dustpaw will be frantic.”

Redtail stopped for a moment and eyed her consideringly.

“...fine,” he grumbled eventually, settling back down into the temporary nest. “I’ll stay. But I want to know what happens at the Gathering. _Everything,”_ he added, looking pointedly at Fireheart, who had been waiting patiently for Spottedleaf at the entrance.

He blinked innocently at Redtail. “Of course.”

(Fireheart had no plans to keep any secrets, but the deputy was fun to tease. He felt - safe. Protected. Like Whitestorm or Bluestar, but with none of the heavy sadness of death or madness. Redtail had died before, yes - but Fireheart hadn’t known him then. He had been a faceless catalyst, a martyr. Now he was a living cat, with a kind and witty and caring. It was no wonder that his death had hit Dustpaw so hard.)

Redtail eyed him, then huffed with faint amusement. “At least Dustpaw will tell me. Go on, then. You don’t want to be late.”

Fireheart grinned and dashed out of the medicine den ahead of Spottedleaf, who followed at a more sedate pace. Her whiskers were twitching when Fireheart looked back at her over his shoulder.

“What?” he asked, once the cats attending the Gathering had departed into the forest. The chill of leaf-fall was more prominent outside the bramble walls, somehow.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you so carefree before,” she meowed, falling into step beside him. Fireheart couldn’t help but glance back at ThunderClan’s camp. He had spent many, _many_ moons of his life wondering what might have been between him and Spottedleaf, but now that he had the option to do everything over again -

He wouldn’t trade Sandstorm for anyone. Spottedleaf was a wonderful cat, but anything that had been between them had been built on infatuation and the allure of distance and impossibility. Now that she was here, and real, (and Fireheart had seen the code of the medicine cat broken too many times to place much stock in it) -

He wished it was Sandstorm walking at his side, that was all. He would always wish it to be Sandstorm and Greystripe and no other cat.

They were his friends. His family. The two cats he trusted most in the world, above even Brambleclaw, above even Bluestar.

“And now I’ve ruined it, I see,” Spottedleaf meowed, amusement and sadness conflicting in her voice.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Fireheart assured her, trying to bring the levity back into his voice. “It’s been a long time since I had the opportunity to… relax for a few days, I suppose.” Ever since Pinestar had sent him back, he’d been rushing to _fix things._ But ever since Wrenflower had joined the clan two days prior, there had been nothing to do but wait - wait for Redtail to recover, to see what the next Gathering would bring. WindClan had been restored to its territory, so the issue that had divided the clans next time was no longer in play. He was - curious. Perhaps a little nervous; BloodClan was still in play in _some_ capacity, and Scourge wouldn’t be content to return to the Twolegplace. But afraid? Anxious? No, he wasn’t that.

 _Hopeful._ The word was hopeful.

How novel.

Fireheart was lost in his thoughts as the ThunderClan group crested the ridge before the Gathering hollow - and was abruptly jolted out of them by Whitestorm’s vicious snarl.

_“Tigerclaw!”_

Fireheart froze.

No. Oh _no._

 _“No,”_ Pinestar groaned. “I am so sorry, Fireheart. I _tried.”_

“How is this possible?” Dustpaw demanded. “He can’t - he’s a _traitor!_ He tried -”

“I know,” Fireheart rasped. “Dustpaw, _I know.”_

Dustpaw stared at Fireheart with wide eyes. “Well then - what -?”

_I have a new deputy now - one I’m told you were intimately familiar with._

“Brokenstar must have made him ShadowClan’s deputy,” Fireheart realized, belated horror unfolding in his chest. “And if he’s here, then -”

Brokenstar was dead. And Tigerclaw, sitting on the Great Rock, was now Tiger _star._

“Where is WindClan?” Whitestorm demanded, swinging his great head around to scan the hollow. “He was present at the battle, they would have seen -”

“Bluestar!” Tigerstar’s voice boomed out in mocking greeting. “Why don’t you come up here and join us,” he invited, eyes glittering in the moonlight.

Bluestar stood frozen at the edge of the hollow, staring at Tigerstar.

Tigerstar’s eyes gleamed. “I do not see Redtail among your number,” he called. “Such a shame. I was looking forward to seeing him again.”

Dustpaw snarled.

“Nevertheless,” Tigerstar continued, as if he had not heard. “Whatever our past grievances, I am pleased to be here with you at the Gathering this night. Brokenstar died barely two days ago, and as his deputy -”

“His _what?!”_ Whitestorm demanded, bristling.

“You _dare -”_ Dustpaw hissed.

“Traitor!” Greystripe yowled. 

 _“Kit-stealer,”_ Ravenshadow hissed, digging his claws into the ground as he crouched next to Fireheart.

“Enough!” Bluestar rasped, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “ThunderClan does not recognize ShadowClan’s new leader. He is a traitor, who attacked members of his own clan and was exiled for his crimes.”

A loud yowl rang through the clearing as cats began to pour in from the moor, fur bristling and eyes flashing. “Nor does WindClan recognize him!” Tallstar shouted, standing tall and proud on the ridge, Deadfoot and Tornear at his side. “Tigerclaw led a group of rogues from the Twolegplace in an attack on WindClan’s territory. He is treacherous and dishonorable - not fit for the position of deputy, let alone leader!”

“StarClan disagrees with you,” Tigerstar purred - despite Tallstar’s outright rejection of his new name, Fireheart knew with terrible certainty that the massive tabby now possessed the nine lives of a leader. “For I am now Tiger _star,_ leader of ShadowClan.”

Bluestar bristled, a wild light entering her eyes. “Then ThunderClan does not recognize StarClan!”

A hush fell over the hollow.

“Bluestar…” Whitestorm murmured. “What are you doing?”

“If our warrior ancestors would let the likes of _you_ lead a clan,” Bluestar hissed up at Tigerstar, ignoring Whitestorm entirely, “then they have abandoned us altogether.”

With that, she whipped around and stalked back into the forest. Slowly, the stunned ThunderClan cats filed out of the hollow after her.

“I’m going to stay,” Fireheart hissed to Ravenshadow and Greystripe. “I want to see what happens at this Gathering. We _can’t_ let Tigerstar address the other clans without at least knowing what he says.”

“I’ll stay too,” Ravenshadow said immediately. “I’m better at hiding than you are anyway.” He hesitated, looking at Fireheart with wide green eyes. “You called him - does that mean he’s really -?”

Fireheart nodded grimly.

Greystripe swore. “I’ll tell Redtail,” he promised. “And Wrenflower,” he added, nodding to Fireheart. “And probably Whitestorm too, and Sandstorm will demand to be let in on the secret. Don’t worry, we’ll keep track of you.”

Fireheart purred, butting his head against Greystripe’s shoulder. “I’m not worried,” he murmured.

Greystripe purred back, then sobered immediately. “You should be,” he meowed. “Be _careful._ Both of you,” he added, looking over to Ravenshadow. “Try and keep him out of trouble?”

Ravenshadow’s whiskers twitched. “No promises.”

“Hey,” Fireheart complained, swatting at Greystripe’s flank. “Hurry up. You’ll lose the others at this rate.”

Greystripe bounded off with a final meow of farewell. Fireheart and Ravenshadow exchanged looks and immediately slunk back to the border of bushes that surrounded the Gathering hollow.

Ravenshadow stopped in the foliage, staring up at the Great Rock.

Fireheart didn’t. He continued down the bank, coming to sit at the foot of the Great Rock where ThunderClan would normally gather and sat down, curling his tail around his paws.

Tallstar, Crookedstar, and Tigerstar all regarded him: Crookedstar with curiosity, Tallstar with relief, and Tigerstar with something burning and inscrutable.

Next to him, Oakheart shifted uncomfortably.

“I believe,” Fireheart said, willing his voice not to tremble when he spoke, “that we’re wasting moonlight?”

Crookedstar nodded slowly. “Indeed,” he said. He took a deep breath and _yowled_ across Fourtrees.

The Gathering had begun.

ThunderClan had brought exactly one representative.

Fireheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	33. Chapter 33

Fireheart watched as Tallstar stepped forward, still glaring at Tigerstar. Crookedstar, too, was watching the ShadowClan leader warily, keeping a careful tail-length between them.

Tigerstar had not lost the smug, self-satisfied expression he’d been wearing. His gaze swept across the Gathering hollow, but all too often he would look back to Fireheart, his eyes glittering with triumphant malice.

“We all came to this Gathering with matters of our own to discuss,” Tallstar began, breaking his gaze from Tigerstar to address the assembled clans. Deadfoot growled low in his throat as Tigerstar turned his head to regard Tallstar. “But there is now a new, urgent matter that must be addressed.” He turned to Tigerstar, who watched the elderly leader with amusement. “Tigerstar, you have been exiled from ThunderClan, you have attacked WindClan at our home, you have brought strange cats from the Twolegplace to fight your battles, and yet ShadowClan claims you as their leader.”

_ Who is your deputy now? _ Fireheart wondered, watching Tigerstar keenly. It had been Blackfoot, before, but Blackfoot had been exiled by Brokenstar. Had Tigerstar welcomed the disgraced deputy back into the fold?

Tigerstar purred in response to Tallstar’s accusations. “My predecessor recognized strength when he saw it. But of course, Tallstar, I would not expect a cat as old and…  _ traditional _ as you to understand such things.”

“I’m not so old I’ve lost my wits!” Tallstar spat.  _ “You _ were the one who brought this  _ BloodClan _ to the forest and attacked my clan -”

“What is this BloodClan?” Crookedstar demanded, stepping forward. “I have heard mutterings at the border, but no solid information.”

“I can answer that,” Fireheart called before Tigerstar or Tallstar could answer. “If I may, Tallstar, Crookedstar?”

Tigerstar growled. Tallstar snarled at him.

Crookedstar nodded. “Please do, Fireheart.”

Fireheart bowed his head. “Thank you, Crookedstar.” He rose to his feet, swishing his tail across the ground. “BloodClan is a group of rogues from the Twolegplace,” he began, raising his voice to ensure  _ all _ of the assembled cats heard him. He glanced over to ShadowClan, seeking Russetfur in the crowd - for all they had found themselves at odds, he had always admired her loyalty to her clan, to her leader. To the code.

He hoped that she, and others, would come to their senses once they realized just  _ who _ their leader was.

“They are led by a cat named Scourge,” Fireheart continued, returning his gaze to the leaders atop the Great Rock, focusing on Crookedstar. Tallstar had always been a friend to ThunderClan - and an enemy of Tigerstar - but RiverClan’s history was more fraught. Leopardstar had allied with Tigerstar until his death, Crookedstar had bowed before Brokenstar’s demands for hunting rights.

The forest needed to unite against Tigerstar and BloodClan. Fireheart  _ needed _ Crookedstar to understand.

“He is, not to put too fine a point on it, a monster.” Fireheart switched his gaze to Tigerstar, whose face had become unreadable. “I’ve seen him rip a cat open from throat to tail. He wears dog teeth in his collar; he and his followers wear them on their claws. They call themselves a clan, but they do not believe in StarClan, nor do they follow the warrior code - the only law in BloodClan in personal survival - and tribute to Scourge.”

“You know a great deal,” Tigerstar sneered, “for a cat who does not  _ belong _ to this BloodClan.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who they are!” Deadfoot yowled, springing to his feet. “All of WindClan heard you lead them into battle!”

Fireheart smiled humorlessly up at Tigerstar. “You’re right,” he meowed, “I am not a member of BloodClan, nor have I ever been, but as I’m sure most cats here are aware -” he paused, sweeping a sardonic glance over the assembled cats, “- I was born in the Twolegplace, where BloodClan has reigned for moons.”

Tigerstar sneered. “Yes, I’m sure your  _ kittypet _ upbringing made you quite familiar with the dealings of rogues.”

“Have you ever been to the Twolegplace, Tigerstar?” Fireheart asked innocently. “It’s quite interconnected. You’d be surprised who knows who in there.”

Crookedstar glanced briefly at Oakheart.

“BloodClan has a reputation for being bloodthirsty, untrustworthy, and treacherous,” Fireheart went on. “Why Brokenstar chose to ally with them, I wouldn’t presume to fathom. As for Tigerstar…” he shrugged. “It is his choice, of course, but he has a history of putting his own greed and lust for power over the wellbeing of those who have placed their trust in him.”

(He thought of the Ravenpaw from before, frightened and shaking; he thought of Dustpelt grieving and Brindleface’s murder and Bluestar’s broken, blank face as she lay in her den consumed by her own doubts. He thought of Stonefur, and Mistyfoot, and Greystripe’s kits huddled behind them. Most of all he thought of Redtail, dead in the center of ThunderClan’s camp.)

“You  _ dare _ insult our leader!” a voice yowled from ShadowClan’s section.

“I dare!” Fireheart snapped, swinging around to see Russetfur, pelt on end and lips curled back in a snarl, glowering at him. Boulder stood beside her, looking uncertain. “I dare because he plotted to kill Redtail while he was still part of ThunderClan, I dare because he tried to kill  _ me _ when I was still an apprentice - I dare,” he finished, staring her down, “because it’s  _ true. _ And despite what ShadowClan did under Brokenstar, you do not deserve whatever fate he would bring down upon you.”

Tigerstar snarled. “Enough! I am the leader of ShadowClan, and I will not suffer these accusations from a warrior with kitten-fluff still in his ears!”

“You  _ will _ suffer them from  _ me,” _ Tallstar hissed. “As far as WindClan is concerned, ShadowClan  _ has _ no leader.”

(Fireheart was not actually aware that a leader could… do that. Tallstar certainly hadn’t done so  _ last  _ time. Had Bluestar’s outburst sparked this? There certainly wasn’t anything in the warrior code that suggested that a clan could refuse to recognize the leader of another clan.)

Tallstar leapt down from the Great Rock before Tigerstar could replay, yowling for his clan to follow him as he led them back towards the moor. Fireheart saw Onewhisker glance his way, eyes wide, before he was swept away by the tide of cats.

(Uncharted territory at its finest. Fireheart’s pelt prickled as he glanced up at the sky - still clear and cloudless. For whatever reason, StarClan was choosing not to interfere.)

Crookedstar stepped forward. “RiverClan will reserve judgement,” he declared. “But ShadowClan is no longer welcome to fish within our borders.”

Tigerstar bristled. “Our need remains,” he snapped. “My clan has kits to feed -”

“You are not the only ones,” Crookedstar reminded him coolly. “If ShadowClan cannot feed itself, it should not have brought new cats into the forest.”

“I need to talk to you,” Fireheart hissed to Oakheart as Crookedstar leapt down from the Great Rock.

Oakheart nodded abruptly, signaling for Fireheart to follow. Fireheart did so gladly - he had no wish to be left along with Tigerstar and his ShadowClan followers. He scanned the edges of the Gathering hollow briefly - there was no sign of Greystripe or Ravenshadow. He hoped that meant they’d left.

Oakheart led him to the front of RiverClan’s Gathering patrol, where Crookedstar was leading them back to their territory. “Crookedstar!” he called. “ThunderClan wants to speak to you.”

Crookedstar glanced curiously at Fireheart. “The young representative,” he meowed. “You already said a great deal at the Gathering. What more do you wish to say?”

“You already know that Tigerstar is dangerous,” Fireheart meowed quickly, glancing over his shoulder, unable to suppress a sudden spurt of paranoia. “I have no proof, so I dared not speak it at the Gathering, but I believe he means to take over the forest and rule it in his own name, and he intends to use BloodClan to do it.”

Oakheart bristled.

Crookedstar regarded Fireheart cautiously. “That is… quite a claim, young warrior.”

“I am aware,” Fireheart said dryly. “As I said, I have no proof - no  _ real  _ proof - but I am… confident in my information.” He glanced pointedly upwards, towards Silverpelt.

Crookedstar’s eyes widened minutely. “I see,” he meowed. “You are full of surprises, it seems.” He exchanged a glance with Oakheart. “I cannot speak to you now. I must see to my clan.” He tilted his head consideringly. “Oakheart will meet you at Sunningrocks tomorrow at sunhigh. Speak to him as you would to me,” he ordered before turning away.

Fireheart, recognizing the clear dismissal, dipped his head and stepped back.

“Sunhigh, then,” Oakheart meowed.

“Sunhigh,” Fireheart agreed.

* * *

“What happened?” Sandstorm demanded as soon as Fireheart stepped into camp. “Greystripe and Ravenshadow said you spoke -”

She wasn’t the only one. Fireheart was swarmed by warriors and apprentices alike, all clamoring to know what happened at the Gathering.

Bluestar was noticeably absent.

Fireheart yowled for quiet, leaping atop the Highrock without thinking about it.

“What are you doing up  _ there?” _ Mousefur demanded, the fur on the back of her neck bristling.

“Making sure everyone can hear me,” Fireheart retorted. He glanced down to the base of the Highrock, where Redtail sat with Dustpaw at his side, watching Fireheart consideringly. When their eyes met, Redtail nodded slightly.

Fireheart took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I believe Greystripe and Ravenshadow have explained the broad strokes of the Gathering?” he asked, glancing towards his friends.

“So they say,” Darkstripe sneered. Sandstorm snarled at him, flexing her claws.

“Peace!” Redtail called. “Fireheart, continue.”

Fireheart nodded gratefully at Redtail. “Tigerstar does indeed lead ShadowClan,” he meowed, pausing to let the dismayed cries die down. He noticed that Darkstripe’s eyes were gleaming. “He remains allied with BloodClan - WindClan has denounced him, as you all heard, but RiverClan has abstained from judgement for the moment. Crookedstar has, however, withdrawn hunting rights to the river.” He did not mention that Oakheart was meeting him at sunhigh tomorrow - the skirmishes over Sunningrocks were still recent memories, and he didn’t trust cats like Darkstripe not to bring the news to Tigerstar.

He was going to have to  _ do something _ about Darkstripe.

“Most of ShadowClan still defends Tigerstar,” he went on. “He has promised them strength and glory after the havoc Brokenstar’s bloodthirst wreaked upon their numbers. They will be fierce enemies, but their motivation comes from Tigerstar. Without him, they will falter.”

“What are you suggesting?” Willowpelt demanded, her fur fluffed up against the creeping cold of the leaf-fall night. “That we kill Tigerstar? Break the code ourselves?”

Fireheart thought of Tigerstar dying nine times over from the horrible wound inflicted by Scourge’s claws and shivered. “I don’t suggest anything,” he answered. “I’m only telling you what I observed at the Gathering.”

“You’re very observant,” Darkstripe said slyly. “How did you deduce all this, exactly?”

Fireheart stared down his nose at the dark tabby. “By  _ listening,” _ he said acidically, “instead of making snide remarks whenever someone spoke.”

Longtail snorted quietly before ducking his head under Darkstripe’s withering gaze. Swiftpaw shifted uneasily beside him and Longtail straightened up immediately, returning Darkstripe’s glare.

Fireheart tried not to smile. Longtail was a good cat, under all his worries and prickly personality.

“If any cat has questions,” he continued, “ask them. I will do my best to answer them.”

The cats looked among themselves, confusion mingling with anger in the air. Wrenflower was pressed close to Goldenflower’s side, looking anxiously up at Fireheart looking fearful and uncertain. Fireheart realized with a guilty jolt that she probably didn’t understand a good half of what he was talking about and resolved to visit her after the meeting and walk her through the basics of clan politics.

“What is Crookedstar waiting for?” Rosetail demanded. “What more proof does he need that Tigerstar is not fit to lead a clan?”

Fireheart shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps he merely wishes to weigh his options before throwing his lot in with us and WindClan. He does not share a border with ShadowClan, after all, and RiverClan is strong.”

“Coward,” Darkstripe hissed. “A  _ real _ warrior relishes a fight.”

“And a real  _ leader _ does not lead their clan into unnecessary battles,” Redtail retorted. “Hold your tongue, Darkstripe, lest a bird relieve itself upon it.”

One-eye cackled quietly as Darkstripe flattened his ears against his skull.

Fireheart answered a few more questions - Frostfur was anxious to hear if ShadowClan intended to continue stealing kits under Tigerstar’s leadership; Runningwind asked if Tigerstar had made any more demands on hunting rights. Darkstripe sulked the entire time and stalked into the warrior’s den as soon as Fireheart leaped down from the Highrock.

“Well done,” Redtail said quietly, as Fireheart approached. “Sometimes I forget that you were ThunderClan’s leader in your future.”

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. “It’s not the sort of thing you stop doing,” he admitted. “I hope I didn’t step on your tail?”

Redtail shrugged. “Considering your unique circumstances, I’ll forgive it. Next time, however,” he added seriously, “speak to me or Bluestar first.”

Fireheart dipped his head sheepishly. “Of course. Sorry, Redtail.”

“No harm done in the end.” Redtail glanced at Dustpaw, who was watching him anxiously. “Get some sleep, Dustpaw. Tomorrow, I have to see how much damage Whitestorm did to your hunting technique.”

Fireheart watched Dustpaw dart off towards the apprentice’s den. “What’s wrong with Whitestorm’s hunting technique?” he asked, turning back to Redtail.

“Nothing, if you’re Whitestorm,” Redtail said dryly.

Fireheart huffed out a quiet laugh and scanned the camp. He ought to speak to Wrenflower, and the other queens, but - “Where is Bluestar?”

Redtail sighed and pointed to the leader’s den. “She has not spoken since she returned from the Gathering. Whitestorm told me of her - outburst,” he finished delicately. Worry washed over his face. “She will not speak to anyone, not even to me or Whitestorm.”

Fireheart’s spirits sank.  _ Not again. _

“May I speak to her?” he asked.

Redtail shrugged helplessly. “If you think it will help, but I think she would prefer to be alone for the night.”

Fireheart nodded. He deferred to Redtail’s judgement - Bluestar had been his mentor, yes, but Redtail had been her friend and confidant for moons before Fireheart had ever come to ThunderClan. “I’ll leave her be then.”

Redtail nodded. He rose to his feet and made for the warrior’s den, pausing to glance over his shoulder at Fireheart. “Be careful,” he meowed. “I fear your actions tonight may have made you an even bigger target to our enemies.”

Fireheart only smiled.  _ I’m counting on it. _


	34. Chapter 34

“What are you going to do?” Greystripe asked anxiously. “It’s - I mean - it’s _Bluestar.”_

Fireheart sighed, glancing over as a flash of red fur caught his eye. Redtail was emerging from Bluestar’s den, looking distinctly unhappy. “That’s the problem,” he said in an undertone. “You remember when I first arrived here, how I didn’t want to tell Bluestar anything?”

“She’s done this _before,”_ Ravenshadow guessed, eyes wide. “Hasn’t she?”

Fireheart nodded grimly.

Sandstorm swore.

“So what are you going to _do?”_ Greystripe pressed, tail twitching worriedly. “What did you do last time?”

Fireheart took a breath and carefully began to sketch out the old madness that had seized Bluestar the last time - the paranoia, the listlessness, the renunciation of StarClan. The refusal to promote deserving apprentices to warriors.

He skirted around the dogs, pelt prickling at the thought of their hot, foul breath at his heels, and only said that she returned to her senses when the clan was truly in danger.

_The fire,_ he remembered with a jolt. He would have to warn Redtail. (It hadn’t happened until after Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt had been born, they had time, but they didn’t have _much,_ Goldenflower was still in the nursery -)

(Speaking of the nursery...)

“I’m not sure yet,” he said slowly, rising to his feet. “I’ll have to think about it - figure out some way to snap her out of it, if I can. Otherwise…” he trailed off unhappily. It would be up to Redtail.

(It had been deeply frustrating, in his later seasons, to look back on his time as deputy and realize how much more he could have done for the Clan.)

“Well, let us know how we can help,” Greystripe meowed, still sounding unhappy. “I hate just… sitting around and waiting for things to get worse.”

“The best thing to do right now is to keep the clan running as normally as possible,” Fireheart meowed. “Go on patrols, go hunting, help out with Swiftpaw if you need to.”

Sandstorm nodded. “We will,” she promised, rising to her feet. “You do what you need to do.”

Fireheart smiled and dipped his head to her before making his way towards the nursery.

“Hello, Goldenflower, Brindleface,” he meowed. “Speckletail, Frostfur - how are the kits?” he asked, touching his nose to Wrenflower’s in greeting.

Frostfur purred. “See for yourself!”

Fireheart laughed as Cinderkit barrelled into his leg. “Hello there!” he purred, stumbling theatrically. “What a mighty warrior you are.”

Cinderkit puffed up as Brackenkit swatted her ear. “You always get to play with Fireheart!” he complained.

“Brackenkit!” Frostfur scolded.

“That’s ‘cos he’s gonna be _my_ mentor!” Cinderkit shot back.

“No fair!” Brightkit yowled. “Fireheart’s gonna be _my_ mentor!” She turned to Fireheart beseechingly, her eye - her _eyes_ wide. “Aren’t you?”

“That’s up to Bluestar,” Fireheart meowed, quelling the pang in his head with a smile. “But I’d be delighted to have any of you as my apprentice.”

Frostfur’s eyes glowed with pride as she ushered her kits back to her side. He settled down next to Wrenflower’s side. “How are you settling in?” he asked her quietly.

Wrenflower’s face lit up. “Frostfur’s been so nice to me - Goldenflower too. I don’t understand everything, not yet, but I’m learning more every day. It’s so _fascinating,_ the way things are done here.”

Fireheart listened as Wrenflower rambled cheerfully about aspects of clan life he’d long since taken for granted. As she talked, he glanced out of the nursery to see that the sun was rising higher in the sky.

“I have to go,” he said when Wrenflower paused, rising to his paws. “I’ll visit again later,” he promised, seeing her expression droop. “Promise.”

“Well, all right,” Wrenflower meowed. “Be careful, Fireheart.”

Fireheart purred. “I’m always careful.”

He slipped out of the nursery and was immediately ambushed by Redtail.

“This has happened before,” he guessed, “hasn’t it? To Bluestar?”

Fireheart nodded.

Redtail cursed under his breath. “Did she ever… recover?”

Fireheart hesitated. Redtail seemed to take this as a _no._ He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he meowed steadily. “Then I have another question for you. You led ThunderClan, yes? You know the cats here?”

Fireheart nodded slowly. “I do.”

“Good.” Redtail swept his tail across the ground. “Then, as a former leader, I’d like your opinion on something.” His whiskers twitched. “However odd this is. Who would you suggest as mentors for Frostfur’s kits? You’ve known them longer than I.”

Fireheart brightened immediately - it was good to do _leader_ things again, even if it was only giving advice. It was also nice to have Redtail asking him for advice - he’d been treated as a young cat so far, and it was good to have someone recognize that he _had_ lead ThunderClan for many moons. He was not a naive young warrior, for all that his memories of the past came to him unreliably. He recognized that he had been given considerably more freedom than most warriors, thanks to his knowledge, but it was good to be treated like a peer instead of an asset.

“Thornclaw is a patient mentor,” he began, sitting back and wrapping his tail around his paws. “He’s very loyal to his clan, to the point that it can blind him to reason - he needs a more patient set of paws.” Mousefur had been a good mentor, there was no contesting that, but she had a sharp tongue and a fierce temper that she’d passed on to Thornclaw. “Perhaps a cat like Whitestorm or Runningwind?”

Redtail tilted his head curiously. “Go on.”

“Brackenfur is a diligent warrior,” Fireheart continued, frowning slightly as he cast a glance over to where his friends had been sitting - they were gone now, probably on patrol. “He’s very calm and level-headed, open to new ways of doing things. He needs a mentor who encourages that in him.”

“A mentor like yourself?” Redtail meowed with gentle amusement. When Fireheart looked at him in surprise, he added, “Dustpaw told me that you were his mentor.”

“And Cinderpelt’s,” Fireheart added quietly.

Redtail dipped his head in acknowledgement. “And Cinderpelt’s. Tell me of the last kit.”

“Brightheart,” Fireheart said immediately. “She’s a fierce fighter and a very brave cat. She was Whitestorm’s apprentice, before - he was a good mentor for her.”

Redtail nodded. “I’m not surprised. Whitestorm is a fine warrior.” He stepped away, dismissing Fireheart. “Thank you for your input, Fireheart.”

Fireheart dipped his head and left the camp.

* * *

Fireheart waited at Sunningrocks as sunhigh approached. His fur itched as he waited for Oakheart to appear - what if Crookedstar had been lying, or changed his mind, what if he’d turned their meeting into an ambush?

The fur on the back of his neck rose as he caught a flash of dark reddish-brown fur in the trees on the opposite bank. He relaxed, just a fraction, as Oakheart padded out of the forest towards where Fireheart was waiting.

“You wanted to talk?” he meowed warily, stepping cautiously around the broken boulders of Sunningrocks.

“I did,” Fireheart agreed, stepping forward to meet the RiverClan deputy face-to-face. “I came to talk to you about Bluestar.”

Oakheart blinked. “Bluestar?” he echoed. “Why would you speak to me about Bluestar?”

Fireheart tasted the air. Oakheart had come alone - there were no other RiverClan cats lying in wait. “Because,” he said, lowering his voice nonetheless, “you’re the father of her kits.”

Oakheart bristled. “What are you -”

“Stonefur,” Fireheart continued. “And Mistyfoot.”

Oakheart glared at him, fur bristling. “What do you want?” he hissed. “Did you bring me out here just to blackmail me, ThunderClan?”

Fireheart sighed internally. “No. I brought you out here to talk about Bluestar.” Oakheart stared at him suspiciously. “She’s unwell. You saw her outburst at the Gathering, yes?”

Oakheart nodded, still suspicious.

“She hasn’t changed since,” Fireheart said grimly.

Oakheart shook his head. “I don’t _understand,”_ he protested. “Why would you tell me this? Our clans are enemies, Fireheart. And you’ve just told me your leader is - indisposed.”

“We have been,” Fireheart agreed. “But I believe RiverClan to be honorable. And I believe that you still care for Bluestar, despite the time that has passed.”

A shadow passed over Oakheart’s face and Fireheart knew he was right.

“You know that Tigerstar poses a threat to the clans,” Fireheart said. “You don’t know how _much_ of a threat, but you know it’s there.”

“And you do?” Oakheart challenged.

“As I said.” Fireheart glanced up to the sky. The stars had vanished with the rising of the sun, but Oakheart got the message anyway. “I’m confident in my information.”

Oakheart stared hard at Fireheart. “I see,” he said eventually. “What did StarClan tell you, then?”

Fireheart was grim. “Tigerstar intends to rule the forest by any means necessary, but he underestimates Scourge. It will not be the tiger that rules the forest, in the end, but blood.”

“In the end,” Oakheart repeated sharply. “And in the interim? What then?”

“Tigerstar will likely seek an alliance with RiverClan,” Fireheart admitted. “I do not know if Crookedstar would take it. Leopardfoot would.”

Oakheart blinked. “Leopardfoot.”

Fireheart nodded absently, his gaze unfocusing. “She would be a young leader,” he said slowly, “newly-made. Uncertain and prideful, easily exploited by Tigerstar. He promised an alliance, but instead it was an annexation.” He looked sharply back to Oakheart. “Tigerstar hates half-clan cats.”

Oakheart’s eyes widened. “Does he -”

“He doesn’t know.” How had he found out? He must have overheard at - some point, had he been watching from the shadows when Bluestar had died?

Oakheart let out a breath of relief.

“He wouldn’t spare you either,” Fireheart warned. “Not if he knew.”

Oakheart nodded, his eyes still locked keenly on Fireheart’s. “There’s something about you,” he said eventually. “Something I can’t quite put my paw on. I wonder what path you’ll walk in the moons to come.”

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. “Only StarClan knows.”

(Pinestar snorted.)

“Perhaps,” Oakheart allowed. He stepped back. “I must return to my clan. I imagine you are needed as well.”

Fireheart dipped his head, rising to his feet. “Undoubtedly. Farewell, Oakheart. May StarClan light your path.”

“I would wish the same for you,” Oakheart meowed, “but it seems they already do.”

* * *

As Oakheart emerged from the water, pushing his way through the reeds that surrounded the RiverClan camp, he saw Crookedstar speaking to Blackclaw and Mudfur near the medicine den. Crookedstar glanced over to him, eyes lighting up almost immediately, and beckoned him forward.

Oakheart approached cautiously. He had never quite gotten along with Blackclaw - he thought Mistyfoot could do better than the aggressive, headstrong tom, although they admittedly had a way of striking sparks off each other that reminded Oakheart of him and Bluestar.

_And that ended so well,_ he reminded himself bitterly.

It hadn’t been all bad. He was a father to two wonderful cats - _but he could have been the father to three._ His heart ached as he remembered Mosskit, and Bluestar’s distress as she stared at him with wide eyes.

Crookedstar dismissed Mudfur and Blackclaw with a word as Oakheart approached. With a wave of his tail, he led Oakheart to the roots of the Ancient Willow, where the leader’s den had been since - well, since the dawn of the clans, to hear the elders tell it.

Oakheart looked around curiously as he stepped inside. Crookedstar spent little time in his den - when he did, he was often sleeping and not to be disturbed unless the camp was flooding or under attack. Oakheart could count on one paw the amount of time he’d set foot inside the leader’s den.

(“What about on fire?” Oakheart had asked him once.)

(“We’re surrounded by water,” Crookedstar had pointed out wryly. “It’ll sort itself out eventually.”)

The idea that he might have to take up its mantle was one that haunted him. He enjoyed his work as deputy, yes, but he had no wish to be _leader._

To see his brother dead.

“What did the ThunderClan warrior have to say?” Crookedstar said, sitting in his nest and motioning for Oakheart to sit as well.

Oakheart recounted his meeting with Fireheart. The young warrior was _unsettling -_ he had the eyes of a much older warrior, and the knowledge he possessed seemed beyond the scope of StarClan’s usual cryptic messages - based on Mudfur’s frequent exasperations with their warrior ancestors, at least. StarClan had never visited Oakheart personally.

Crookedstar listened without interrupting until Oakheart had finished. “Is that everything?” he meowed.

It wasn’t - Oakheart had skated around the issue of Mistyfoot and Stonefur’s true parentage. He knew Crookedstar suspected, at least, but he didn’t need to _confirm_ anything. It would be forcing Crookedstar’s paw in the matter, and he had no wish to do that. Still, he nodded.

Crookedstar regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “I must travel to the Moonstone,” he said eventually, “to see what StarClan themselves have to say on the matter. I will not trust the future of my clan to a young outsider, no matter what gifts they may have been granted.”

Oakheart dipped his head. “Will you be taking Mudfur with you?” he asked.

Crookedstar shook his head. “No need. There are apprentices who have yet to make the journey to the Moonstone - it will be a good opportunity for them. Tell Shadepaw and Stonefur,” he meowed decisively, “that they’ll be accompanying me.”

“I will,” Oakheart meowed, rising to his feet. “May StarClan light your path.”

“And yours,” Crookedstar meowed. His gaze turned distant. “And all of RiverClan’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, 100k! Thank you to everyone for sticking around this long.
> 
> A few lovely people have asked to translate Ouroboros into other languages - the Russian translation can be found  
> [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8915663/22793441) and the Polish translation is [here](https://my.w.tt/rZpQfU5JW2).


	35. Chapter 35

The journey to the Moonstone was made largely in silence.

Shadepaw spoke occasionally, trying to fill the void with conversation, but she quickly fell silent as the long trek to Highstones wore down her strength. They crossed paths with a WindClan patrol and exchanged terse pleasantries - the patrol was lead by Deadfoot, who was watching Crookedstar warily, likely trying to discern on which side of the Tigerstar debacle RiverClan was going to cast its stone.

Crookedstar had his own opinions on the matter. But ultimately, he would put his trust in StarClan.

(Had they truly graced Tigerstar with nine lives? He shook his head, refusing to fall down that rabbit warren.)

They arrived at the Moonstone shortly before sundown. They waited until the moon rose high enough in the sky before Crookedstar led Shadepaw down into the depths, leaving Stonefur at the mouth to keep watch.

Shadepaw’s breathing grew faster as they descended, the beginnings of fear beginning to waft from her pelt. Crookedstar slowed deliberately, letting his pawsteps echo slightly. Shadepaw calmed, just a bit, and Crookedstar allowed himself a small smile.

The cave lit up with a blinding flash as soon as Crookedstar set paw into it - he grimaced and looked away, trying to shield his eyes. No matter how many times he came here, he never got used to that. Shadepaw gasped as the Moonstone lit up with bright, starry light, burnishing her dark pelt with silver.

“Approach the Moonstone,” Crookedstar intoned. “Touch your nose to it and let the spirits of our warrior ancestors speak to you.”

Shadepaw approached with trembling paws, glancing back at Crookedstar for confirmation before she touched her nose to the Moonstone. Immediately, her muscles went lax - Crookedstar observed her for a moment more before approaching the Moonstone himself, pressing his nose to the cold rock and allowing sleep to wash over him.

* * *

Crookedstar awoke in an unfamiliar patch of forest. The trees were shrouded in thick fog, moonlight scattering through the damp air as Crookedstar struggled to get his bearings.

“Hailstar?” he called. “Brambleberry?”

The sound of muttering cats reached him. Crookedstar’s ears twitched, but the muttering died almost as soon as it started.

The fog began to clear. Crookedstar could pick out three silhouettes in the fog before two of them disappeared as the trees around him began to emerge from the dense mist.

The remaining cat walked forward. Crookedstar waited, wary but unafraid, as the silhouette began to resolve itself into more details - a large, battle-scarred tom with a torn right ear.

Crookedstar’s ears flattened.  _ “Pinestar?” _ he asked in disbelief. He had never been visited by cats who had lived their lives in other clans before - it was not done, at least not to leaders. Mudfur had never mentioned such a thing, so either it was so commonplace among medicine cats as to be unremarkable, or it was not done  _ there _ either.

“Crookedstar,” Pinestar greeted, dipping his head. “Believe me, I am not thrilled about this meeting either.”

“Nor should you be.”

Crookedstar relaxed marginally as the dry tones of Hailstar came from behind him. He turned to see the former RiverClan leader emerging from the thinning mist, looking suitably irate. “This is  _ your _ mess,” he reminded Pinestar, “you ought to be cleaning it up.”

Pinestar bristled. “My mess? Oakheart would be dead if not for Fireheart, and then where would you be? Crawling towards a clan under Leopardfur, no doubt -”

“It was  _ your  _ decision to bring him  _ back, _ you are the one to deal with the fallout -”

“Enough!” Crookedstar yowled. “I came here for guidance and answers, not to mediate your disputes. Hailstar, does Fireheart speak the truth? Does Tigerstar intent to rule the forest himself?”

Hailstar bowed his head. “It appears that he does.”

“And he will use this - BloodClan to do it?” Crookedstar demanded, tail lashing.

“He will try,” Pinestar confirmed. “Scourge is not so easy to control as he believes, however. It would not surprise me if they should have some sort of… falling out.”

Hailstar muttered something under his breath that Crookedstar didn’t catch.

“And Fireheart?” Crookedstar asked. “StarClan speaks to him?”

Hailstar glared at Pinestar. “After a fashion,” he said grudgingly. “His circumstances are… unique.” His ear twitched. “I must greet Shadepaw. Pinestar?”

Pinestar sighed. “Yes, yes. Go on, then.”

Crookedstar turned to Pinestar expectantly as Hailstar dissolved into starlight. “Well?”

Pinestar sighed. “Fireheart has knowledge of what may happen, if nothing is done,” he meowed. “He is trying to ensure it does not come to pass. I wish I could say more.”

Crookedstar grunted. StarClan was obligated to be cryptic, it seemed. “And Oakheart? What did you mean when you spoke of him earlier?”

Pinestar’s eyes gleamed with something like pride. “Ask your deputy what happened at Sunningrocks.”

* * *

Crookedstar jerked awake with a snarl, a bright flash of ginger fur fading behind his eyes, starling Shadepaw awake next to him.

He heaved himself to his paws without a word and signaled for Shadepaw to follow him.

“Is everything all right?” Stonefur asked as Crookedstar emerged from Mothermouth. Crookedstar did not respond, his mind still swirling - he had more questions than answers, still, but he knew that the threat Tigerstar posed was not a simple clashing of borders or skirmishes over prey. It was a threat to the clans as a whole, and it must be treated with all seriousness.

And tangled up at the center of it all was Fireheart, the strange young ThunderClan warrior who spoke with familiarity and eloquence, bold and gracious in equal measure - always dancing on the border between spirit and treason.

* * *

Fireheart’s ears twitched as pawsteps approached from the south. The mouse he was stalking heard them too - it froze, then turned and bolted for the safety of its nest. He launched himself after it, but his claws passed harmlessly through its fur before it scuttled to safety. He turned around, prepared to be irritated, but his annoyance died as soon as he saw Sandstorm.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I was looking for you.”

Fireheart tilted his head curiously. “Is something wrong?”

Sandstorm shook her head. “No. But it’s nearing sundown, and Redtail’s been dropping hints that you should be back before then.”

Interesting. “Do you know why?”

Sandstorm shrugged. “No idea. But Dustpaw’s been pretty puffed up lately, so I bet there’s going to be a ceremony.”

With a start, Fireheart remembered the questions Redtail had asked him the previous day. Cinderpelt and Brackenfur had been apprenticed early - perhaps they would be again. 

Sandstorm was studying him. “You have some idea, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Fireheart admitted.

“You going to tell me?” Sandstorm pressed.

Fireheart quickly filled her in on the conversation he’d had with Redtail as they walked back to camp, collecting Fireheart’s catches of the day as they went.

“This is a lot of mice,” Sandstorm observed.

Fireheart shrugged. “I like mice.”

Sandstorm snorted. “So you think Frostfur’s kits are going to be made apprentice’s early?” Her eyes clouded with worry. “They’re still young. It seems like -” She trailed off, frowning.

“Like something Brokenstar would do?” Fireheart prompted gently.

Sandstorm nodded, clearly embarrassed by the thought.

Fireheart sighed. “It’s not - I won’t lie and tell you it’s  _ entirely _ dissimilar, but Frostfur’s kits are nearly six moons as it is, and Frostfur has confirmed that they’re ready to start training. Redtail wouldn’t make them apprentices without Frostfur’s approval,” he pointed out.

Sandstorm nodded. “I suppose,” she agreed. “It’s not  _ the same, _ I know, but it’s… uncomfortably similar.”

Fireheart let out a long breath, remembering how very young Cinderpaw had been. “I know.”

They reached the camp just as the sun was about to touch the tops of the trees. Willowpelt meowed a greeting as they deposited their catches onto the fresh-kill pile - Sandstorm had spotted a few squirrels on their way back.

“So, uh,” Sandstorm coughed, obviously casting about for a topic of conversation. “How’s Wrenflower settling in?”

Fireheart brightened. “She’s doing well! I think it helps that she’s not being thrown directly into apprentice training, actually - she’s getting a chance to get used to clan life first, and then she’ll get to train as an apprentice. It’s a bit… slower paced, I suppose. The queens have been nice to her as well.”

“Well, yeah,” Sandstorm agreed, “they would be. She’s way too young to be having kits already.”

Cats kept saying that, and yet Fireheart ended up blindsided every time they did. It was just something that  _ was. _ He’d never actually put any  _ thought _ into it - Wrenflower was Cloudtail’s mother, Cloudtail was Wrenflower’s son. It was just a fact. He’d never considered the rest of it.

(It had turned out all right in the end, at least.)

Before Fireheart could work through that mess enough to form a response, Redtail’s voice rang through the camp. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highrock for a clan meeting!”

Fireheart looked over to see that Dustpaw was already present, his fur meticulously groomed. The scars on his haunches were still visible - they probably would always be so - but he sat proudly at the base of the Highrock, shoulders back and chin lifted.

Privately, Fireheart hoped that Dustpaw was reading the situation correctly, or he was about to be very embarrassed. He didn’t recall it being part of Bluestar’s policy to inform apprentices beforehand - he himself had been embarrassingly inconsistent in the matter.

“Where is Bluestar?” One-eye rasped as the clan assembled. “Why is she not speaking to us?”

“Bluestar is temporarily indisposed,” Redtail meowed. “As deputy, the duties of clan leadership thus fall to me.” He looked down, oblivious to the way Fireheart was silently cursing himself for not just ignoring Bluestar’s madness-soaked demands about who should and should not be made a warrior (nevermind how young and inexperienced he’d been at the time). “I, Redtail, deputy of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in turn.”

Dustpaw’s eyes were shining. So were Redtail’s, Fireheart noticed.

“Dustpaw,” Redtail continued, “do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do,” Dustpaw said solemnly.

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Dustpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Dustpelt. StarClan honors your bravery and resilience, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Redtail rested his nose on Dustpelt’s shoulder, murmuring something so quietly only Dustpelt would have been able to hear it. Dustpelt licked Redtail’s shoulder in turn.

“Dustpelt!” Fireheart yowled, greeting his old friend at last as the clan took up the chant. “Dustpelt! Dustpelt! Dustpelt!”

Dustpelt looked over the gathered clan, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Fireheart beamed at him as Dustpelt’s gaze settled briefly on him. Dustpelt had worked hard for this - he’d earned it, without question. He’d  _ more _ than earned it.

“Congratulations,” Fireheart said quietly as Dustpelt moved to sit by him and Sandstorm. Greystripe, who had been sitting a short distance away, also meowed his congratulations.

Dustpelt snorted softly. “The apprentice den is too quiet without your snoring anyway.”

Greystripe squawked in mild indignation.

Redtail waited until the chanting had died down before speaking again. “We also gather today to welcome two new apprentices into our ranks. They will begin their warrior training half a moon early, with the blessing of their mother.” He looked down to the base of the Highrock, where Cinderkit, Brackenkit, Brightkit, and Thornkit sat nervously. “Step forward, all of you.”

Fireheart watched anxiously. They looked so young - so  _ small. _

Redtail’s eyes were kind as he spoke. “Cinderkit,” he began, “you are nearing the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day forward, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Cinderpaw. Your mentor will be Fireheart.”

The words slid into place like they belonged there. Fireheart tasted hope on his tongue and dread in the back of his throat as he rose to his paws and padded forward to where Cinderpaw waited, to where his  _ second chance _ waited with all four legs intact -

_ Not this time, _ he vowed.  _ You wanted so desperately to be a warrior - you will be, this time. I will see it done. _

“Fireheart,” Redtail meowed, “you are ready to take on an apprentice. You received excellent training from Bluestar, and you have shown yourself to be bold and resourceful. You will be the mentor of Cinderpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to her.”

Fireheart touched his nose to Cinderpaw’s. She was nearly vibrating with excitement, her blue eyes shining. A small smile flitted across his face as he steered her to the side, allowing Brackenkit to step forward.

“Brackenkit,” Redtail called, “you are nearing the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day forward, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Brackenpaw. Your mentor will be Sandstorm.”

Fireheart could not stop the purr in his throat as Sandstorm’s eyes widened. She jumped to her feet in excitement, paws trembling minutely with repressed glee as she wove her way to the front of the crowd. Brackenpaw watched her approach, eyes wide.

“Sandstorm,” Redtail continued, “you are ready to take on an apprentice. You have received excellent training from Whitestorm, and you have shown yourself to be brave and loyal. You will be the mentor of Brackenpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

Sandstorm nodded fervently, leaning forward to touch noses with Brackenpaw, murmuring a reassurance as she did. Some of the tension in Brackenpaw’s shoulders eased as she did.

Fireheart flashed her a warm smile as she made her way over to stand with him, Brackenpaw following close behind. “Congratulations,” he murmured softly.

Sandstorm glanced at him. “Yeah,” she muttered. “You too.”

“Brightkit, you are nearing the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day forward, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Brightpaw. Your mentor will be Whitestorm.”

Fireheart felt a small glow in his chest as Whitestorm and Brightpaw touched noses - everything had been  _ okay, _ then, until the dogs had come. Maybe he couldn’t stop the dogs, if Tigerstar still used them, but he  _ could _ keep Brightpaw and Swiftpaw from being so upset that they tried to fight the pack themselves.

Sandstorm purred a greeting to her former mentor as Redtail called Thornkit up to the Highrock.

“Thornkit,” he said, “you are nearing the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day forward, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Thornpaw. Your mentor will be Willowpelt.”

Fireheart blinked in surprise - then he understood. He had told Redtail that Thornpaw needed a gentler paw guiding him than Mousefur’s; Willowpelt was a fine choice. There were other kits coming that would need mentors - Cloudtail and his siblings, Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt -  _ Tawnypelt. _

“Willowpelt,” Redtail meowed, beginning to draw the ceremonies to a close, “you are ready to take on an apprentice. You have received excellent training from Poppydawn, and you have shown yourself to be thoughtful and brave. You will be the mentor of Thornpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

_ “Cinderpaw! Brackenpaw! Brightpaw! Thornpaw! Cinderpaw! Brackenpaw! Brightpaw! Thornpaw!” _

Fireheart looked down at Cinderpaw, staring out at the clan with wide eyes. “Come on,” he said quietly, getting to his feet. “Let’s get you introduced to the territory, shall we?” He glanced at Sandstorm. “Care to join us?”

Sandstorm flicked her tail, a small smile crossing her face. “Might as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a day early because I'm going to be super busy tomorrow and I won't have time to write. Bit of a breather chapter, at least for the most part. Hope y'all enjoyed!!


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